


Out of the Woods

by pocketmumbles (livelikejack)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Asexual Character, Asexual Derek Hale, Asexual Scott McCall, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, Peter Hale is a Villain, Post-Canon, Scott-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelikejack/pseuds/pocketmumbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have to go now,” she says. “It’s not meant to end here.”</p><p>Scott shakes his head, frowning in confusion. “What isn’t?”</p><p>“The story.” </p><p>
  <em>(Or, Scott and Derek go into the Preserve late one night and find themselves trapped in a series of fairytales.)</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is seven chapters total, with a new chapter posted every day of Scerek Week 2015.
> 
> Written post-S4 and set sometime in the future after Braeden/Derek and Kira/Scott have ended amicably. Allison is included in the character tags, but this fic is canon compliant through S4, so she is _**not**_ alive in this story. I'm very sorry if the character tag got anyone's hopes up.
> 
> Fic title is an indirect reference to the musical _Into The Woods_ , but the storylines are completely unrelated.

[ ](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com/post/118157977526/title-out-of-the-woods-chapters-1-7-fandom-teen)

1\. [Today Was A Fairytale - Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEUQb840enk)  
2\. [Hollow Moon (Bad Wolf) - AWOLNATION](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2PsXT88UeU)  
3\. I Know Places - Taylor Swift

* * *

  

Red cloth falls over his eyes. Scott shoves the hood back from his face, ducking under a tree branch as he runs into the woods. Something snags on his hair – no, his head, something around his head, under his hood but on his head – and he stumbles back into the tree trunk with a yelp. He swats frantically at his head, finally tugs himself free, then stares in befuddlement at the red headband and its neat little bow that had snagged on the branch. He definitely hadn’t been wearing a headband before, he’d been… Scott looks down at himself and yelps, tripping over a tree root in surprise.

He definitely hadn’t been wearing a blue shirt with billowy sleeves before, or tight yellow…breeches? And he definitely, absolutely, positively hadn’t been wearing an honest-to-god _cloak_ tucked around a high white collar. Scott flaps the cloak in befuddlement, watching the cloth flutter red as blood.

“Prince! Wait!”

Scott jerks upright as he remembers why he’d been running. The huntswoman, come to cut out his heart – no, wait, the wolf, leaping for his throat – no, no, _Derek_ –

“Prince!” The huntswoman bursts into view, approaching him slowly with empty hands outstretched. “My prince, I mean you no harm.”

“Oh, that’s pretty rich, coming from the hunter who just tried to cut my heart out,” Scott snaps. The memories fill his mind effortlessly” his lonely life in the castle with the Queen, her jealousy of his beauty and birthright, the huntswoman and her flashing silver dagger – silver. Silver. Argent. Scott’s mouth drops open as the huntswoman tucks her Chinese ring dagger into her jacket. “You’re-”

“A servant of Queen Kate, as we all are,” the huntswoman says. “But, Prince, my loyalty is to you first.”

“You’re always on my side,” Scott mumbles, and the huntswoman smiles at him. His throat tightens. “Allis-”

“There isn’t much time,” the huntswoman says urgently. She looks up at the sky, smoothing down her purple tunic. “I’ll hunt down an animal in the forest and bring back its heart instead – a wolf heart, yes, that should work. It’ll buy you enough time to disappear.”

“Disappear?”

“Into the woods,” the huntswoman says, nodding. “The forest is huge; if you go deep enough, she shouldn’t be able to find you. Hopefully not even that mirror of hers will,” she mutters under her breath. “But we can’t waste any more time. You have to go, now.”

“Okay.” Scott stands and brushes his clothes. “Thank you,” he says. “For everything.” He hesitates, swallowing heavily. “I never did get to thank you, Allison.”

For a moment, her eyes flash in recognition. “ _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_ ,” Allison whispers. “I’ll always protect you. And you have to go now. It’s not meant to end here.”

He shakes his head, frowning in confusion. “What isn’t?”

“The story,” she says. A flock of crows burst from the trees, filling the quiet woods with their caws. “Scott, _run!_ ”

Scott runs into the woods as the trees thicken and block out the setting sun, as the world plunges deeper and deeper into darkness and he can barely see his own hands in front of him. He skids over roots and under branches, blindly pushing through bushes until his hand slams against solid wood instead of a leafy branch. It falls away under his weight, and he stumbles forward onto a wooden floor. “Who’s there?” a voice shouts.

He whirls, squinting uselessly through the darkness. A match strikes, then a lantern illuminates near – near his waist. Scott looks down to see a pale face dotted with moles glaring up at him, and he sighs in relief. He knows that face, he’s known that face for almost as long as he can remember, that’s…that’s…

He swallows. The dwarf peers back at him, clearly waiting for him to speak first, and Scott can feel his memories sliding away. He knows that face, he _knows_ it, but he can’t remember their name, can’t remember how or when they met, can’t remember a single thing about them. “I,” he tries, throat dry and still out of breath, “My name is…”

“It’s the Prince!” another voice yells. Scott turns around to face them and ends up tangled in his cloak instead. The dwarf giggles, braided black hair bouncing on her shoulders. “It’s red as blood, see,” she continues, holding up a corner of his cloak. “Just like the ribbon in his hair. Only one person in the entire kingdom wears this particular shade of red, so he’s gotta be the Prince.”

“He could’ve stolen those from the Prince,” the first dwarf says. He raises his lantern suspiciously, but only succeeds in illuminating the bottom of Scott’s shirt. “You. Hands behind your back.”

“Uh, okay.” Scott tucks his hands back, then jumps as what feels like three different pairs of hands lock around his wrists.

“Lean down so we can see you,” the first dwarf orders. A dwarf with hair red as fire tucks her head close to his in the lantern’s light, and another dwarf with dark skin and scars trailing down her neck rolls up the sleeve on his left arm. Scott leans down, trying not to blink too much as the lantern gets shoved against his nose, and then all three dwarves step back with a decisive nod.

“Eyes red as blood,” the red-haired dwarf says.

“And marks white as snow,” the dark-skinned dwarf says. “Not even the most powerful witch in the world can recreate that. It’s the Prince.”

Scott looks down at his arm and blinks at the completely white bands circling his arm. That’s…familiar, somehow, but somehow new. “Where am I?” he asks. “I don’t know…” He shakes his head. He’s not in Beacon Hills anymore. He doesn’t even know what Beacon Hills is.

Light slowly fills the room. Scott blinks at the wooden floors, long table and chairs as high as his knees, and then the ceiling mere inches above his head. “Our apologies, Your Highness,” the first dwarf says while the others bow. “We had to be sure it was you, what with-” He quiets at a glare from the red-haired dwarf. “-Well. You know.”

“The huntswoman,” Scott says. “She – she said she had to cut out my heart.”

“And it’s a miracle you got away,” the dwarf says, nodding with wide eyes. “But don’t worry; you’re safe here.”

“No one travels this deep into the woods,” another dwarf pipes up, brown hair bouncing as she nods.

“Right,” the first dwarf says. “Anyway, that’s Braeden, and Mason, Malia, Liam, and Lydia, and Kira,” he continues, pointing at each in turn. There’s an odd cadence to his voice as he lists their names, as if they were coupled together in pleasing rhymes on a page. “And I’m Stiles.”

Scott blinks, waiting for the name and the face to come together in his mind and dredge up whatever he’d remembered before, but…nothing. The harder he tries, the further everything slips away until he’s left with nothing but a vague nagging feeling that he’s forgotten something terribly important.

Stiles seems to notice his quiet panic, since he throws an arm around Scott’s back and steers him into the nearest seat. The dwarves bustle around him, some disappearing upstairs while the ones that Scott thinks might be Liam and Mason add a heavy bolt to the door, and Kira pushes a bowl of soup in front of him. “You must be hungry,” she says.

“Oh, no, I’m-” Scott begins, trying not to knock his knees into the underside of the table, and then his stomach lets out a loud gurgle. “-Fine.”

Stiles sits down next to him. “You’re covered in leaves and dirt,” he comments as he digs into a loaf of bread. “No offense, Your Highness, but you look terrible.”

“I’m not Your Highness,” Scott says. “I’m just – I’m Scott.”

“Sure thing, Prince Scott,” Stiles says. Scott sighs and accepts the hunk of bread that Stiles holds out to him. “So, what’s life like living in the castle? I mean, before the Queen went all homicidal.”

There’s something so _familiar_ about Stiles. Scott slides into conversation with him as easily as if they’d known each other their entire lives, and whenever he falls silent, Stiles knows exactly what to say to draw him back in again. It’s almost as if – Scott never had any siblings, barely even had any friends to grow up with at the castle, but Stiles already feels like a close friend, like a brother.

But that’s wrong, completely wrong, and as he helps the dwarves clean up and set up the guest room, that vague nagging feeling returns. He’s forgotten something terribly important. He sits up in the dwarves’ makeshift bed – three mattresses pushed together, since he was far too tall for theirs – and gnaws on his lip as he tries to remember.

The door creaks open, and Stiles pokes his head in. “Can’t sleep?” he asks in a loud whisper. Scott shakes his head, and Stiles pushes the door the rest of the way open, bounding in and sitting next to him on the mattresses. “You’re safe here, Scott,” he says. “Promise. As long as you stay at this cottage, no one will be able to get to you.”

Scott smiles. “Thank you,” he says. “I-”

Two tiny heads poke through the doorway. “Mason couldn’t sleep,” Liam says. Stiles sighs long-sufferingly, but Scott holds open the corner of his blanket for them to slide in.

Scott’s still trying to explain how lacrosse works – he’d loved playing the sport in the castle, since it was one of the rare times he got to be with children his own age – when Kira and Malia lean around either side of the door frame. “I need help braiding Malia’s hair,” Kira explains.

Kira’s finally managed to coach Scott through an acceptable French braid by the time Lydia and Braeden stroll into the room without even bothering to make up an excuse. Somehow, all eight of them manage to fit on the mattresses, and somehow, Scott ends up in the middle. “I wanna hear a bedtime story,” Mason says around a huge yawn.

Lydia claps her hands excitedly. “Ooh, tell us a story from the castle, Your Highness!”

“The castle’s boring,” Braeden scoffs. “Tell us a different a story.”

“Okay,” Scott says, and tries to think of where to start. “Um, well…once upon a time, there was a kingdom on the edge of the woods called Beacon Hills.”

“Why’d they call it Beacon Hills?” Mason asks.

“Because it had hills, duh,” Stiles says.

Braeden flicks the backs of their heads. “Shh. Let the Prince tell his story!”

Scott smiles. “Well, it was indeed called Beacon Hills because of its hills, but also because…well, you see, its magic was all gone.” The dwarves gasp. “Something terrible had happened long ago that took it all away, but still the town – the kingdom – called for the magic to come back, constantly drawing new magic in like-”

“Like a beacon!” Liam pipes up proudly.

“Exactly,” Scott says, nodding. “So in that kingdom called Beacon Hills, there lived a boy named Scott. And, uh, just like the kingdom longed for magic, Scott longed for friends. He had lots of animal friends, since he helped the healer with the wounded animals who journeyed to the kingdom, but Scott wished he could have friends who could talk to him.”

“That’s really sad,” Malia says. Lydia shushes her.

“It was sad, and Scott was sad,” Scott says. “But one day, he journeyed into the woods on the edge of the kingdom, because he’d lost-” He pauses, frowning at the phantom sensation of hard plastic in his hand. “Because he was looking for a – a blue flower with red thorns. He needed it, you see, because he was sick and he needed it to help him breathe. So he ventured further into the woods than he’d ever gone before, until the sky grew dark and he couldn’t see the way back out anymore, and then he found…” A voice echoes distantly in his mind, muffled and unintelligible and nothing like anything he’d heard before. The vague nagging feeling returns, and he suddenly realizes that he hasn’t forgotten something terribly important, but rather some _one_. “He found-”

“Stiles!” Stiles shouts with a broad grin. “Scott found Stiles in the woods!”

Liam crosses his arms. “Why couldn’t he have found Liam?” he mutters.

“He found everyone,” Scott says, patting Liam’s back. “Eventually. But he found Stiles first.” He keeps talking, as his made-up Scott and Stiles go further into the woods and find Lydia, and Kira, and Malia, and Braeden, and Liam, and Mason, and as they embark on adventures together defeating monsters and finding hidden treasure and rescuing each other from evil. By the time they’ve all made it through the woods and Scott finally says, “The end,” sunlight streams through the window and a blackbird hops onto the windowsill to chirp at him.

“Did you sleep at all?”

Scott stares back at the bird, eyes wide, then realizes that the voice had sounded an awful lot like Stiles. He looks down to see Stiles sitting up with a yawn. “Kinda felt like you were talking all night.”

“Well,” Scott says, shrugging uncomfortably, “I had to finish the story. And besides, you stayed up the whole time too, anyway.”

“Nah, I dozed off when you got to Liam’s part,” Stiles says. He rolls Mason off his leg and scoots closer to Scott. “You know, Scott, nothing bad’ll happen when you fall asleep. It’s not like you’re gonna get trapped in some sort of forever sleep or anything.”

“I know. It’s not that. It’s just…” Scott trails off, then tries again. “I just have this feeling that I’ve – I’ve forgotten something. And whatever it is, it’s really important, and I can feel it on the tip of my tongue, but I’m afraid that if I fall asleep-”

“Then you’ll lose it forever,” Stiles finishes. “That makes sense.”

Scott slumps in relief. “It does?”

“No, not at all.” Stiles shrugs. “But if it’s important to you, then do whatever you have to, Prince.” He claps his hands together with a grin. “Now, you wanna help me wake everyone up?”

Apples hang from the tree outside, bright red and heavy on their branches despite the trees further in the woods barely beginning to flower. “It’s a special tree,” Kira says when she notices Scott’s confusion. “Grows fruits whenever it feels like it, regardless of the season.” She nods at the apples. “These came in last night.” He tries to go with Braeden and Lydia to pick some for breakfast, but the dwarves forbid him from stepping outside the cottage. He helps Kira with the porridge instead while Liam and Mason run around setting the table and Malia draws water from the well. They try to stay and help clean up after the meal, but the sun’s already high in the sky. Scott knows that they’ve already wasted enough of their day fussing over him, so he shoos them all out the door with lunches packed in their bags. “Remember,” Stiles says as Scott pushes him out the door, “Don’t go outside, and don’t let anyone in!”

The cottage is quiet without seven other people running around. Scott washes the dishes, then he washes the dishes in the cupboard, then he cleans the table and the chairs and the floor, and he’s trying to decide if getting water from the well counts as going outside when a loud knock sounds at the door. “Hello?” a frail voice calls. “Is anyone there?”

He opens the door to see an old woman bent over a cane, her skin blue-black and covered in splotchy markings. “Hello,” he says slowly. “May I help you?”

“I’ve been traveling all day, and I’m afraid I’ve gotten lost in these woods,” the old woman says. “Could I come inside and rest for a bit?”

Scott’s grip tightens on the door. “I’m very sorry,” he says as politely as he can manage, “But I’m not allowed to let anyone in.”

The old woman’s mouth tightens for a moment, green eyes flashing unnaturally bright. Then she smiles at him. “I understand completely,” she says. “Then is it okay if I eat this apple? It fell from that tree over there.”

Scott looks at the apple in her hand, bright red just like the ones Lydia and Braeden had picked that morning. “Of course,” he says. “I could get you some bread, too, if you’d like.”

“Oh, just this is more than fine,” the old woman says. She pulls a knife from a pocket of her robe and cuts the apple in half. “I feel like I should thank you for your generosity.”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing, really,” Scott says, but the old woman holds out a piece of the apple. “Really, you don’t have to.”

“And you didn’t have to either,” the old woman says with a gentle smile. “I want you to have it. You look hungry.”

“I’m not-” Scott blinks in surprise as his stomach lets out a faint gurgle. “Well, okay.” He takes the apple slice from the old woman. It smells delicious, just like the ones he’d helped slice up this morning.

“To the kindness of strangers,” the old woman says, raising her slice cheerily.

Scott smiles and takes a small bite of the apple. Too late, he notices the woman watch him with glowing green eyes, standing taller and stronger as she bares pointed teeth in a vicious grin. Then the fruit touches his tongue, and he collapses to the ground.

 

* * *

 

_Scott’s knees buckle, and he drops to the ground as a new scent floods his nostrils. He blinks his eyes open and tries to place it. It’s fruity, and flowery, somehow, unlike anything he’s ever smelled in the Preserve—_

_“Scott!”_ _a tinny voice yells._

_He jumps to his feet, then realizes that the voice had come from his phone fallen out of his pocket. He picks it up and wipes the screen clean, grimacing as cold mud seeps into the red sleeve of his hoodie. “Stiles? I lost Derek’s scent. Where are you guys?”_

_A staticky laugh echoes from the phone. “That is a very good question,” Stiles says. “There’s fog everywhere. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. Malia can’t see past the treeline at all; it just gets worse the further we get into the woods.”_

_“Fog?” Scott frowns, looking around the completely empty forest. “Stiles, there isn’t any fog where I am. It’s been clear all night, it’s-” He looks around the clearing again, and the mysterious scent grows stronger. “Something’s not adding up.”_

_“Yeah, no kidding,” Stiles mutters. “Okay, okay. Maybe Braeden and Liam can get to you, and the rest of us’ll catch up.”_

_“No, stay together, it’s safer that way.”_

_“Oh, that’s pretty rich, coming from the guy who ran into the woods all by himself.”_

_“I had to go after Derek!” Scott says. “I would’ve lost him if I’d waited-”_

_“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles sighs, breath crackling down the line. “Okay, what’s it look like where you are? Not like we can really see landmarks here, but…”_

_“Um, I’m in a clearing,” Scott says, looking around. “Maybe…fifty feet across? And there’s a scent here, it’s like flowers, or fruit, or…” He trails off, staring at a cluster of white flowers hanging from a branch on the far side of the clearing._

_“Scott?” Stiles yells. “Scott, are you still there?”_

_He steps closer to the tree. “Apple blossoms,” he says. “They’re apple blossoms.”_

_Garbled mutters sound from the phone, then Stiles says, “Scott, there aren’t any apple trees in the Preserve.”_

_“I know.”_

_“You have to get out of there_ right now. _”_

_“But Derek-”_

_“There is something_ very wrong _going on, and you need get out of there now!” Stiles shouts. “Derek will understand. We’ll regroup and come back for him.”_

_“But-” Scott pauses as he hears faint growls behind him and the tick of a steady heartbeat._

_“Scott?” Stiles calls. “Scott, are you there?”_

_A familiar scent wafts closer with the gentle breeze. Scott watches the apple blossoms flutter to the ground. “I found Derek.”_

_“_ Scott _-”_

_The line abruptly dies. Scott turns to see Derek crouched low on the forest floor, shuddering as fur ripples across his body and his hands shift to claws and paws and back again. “Scott,” Derek grits out, looking up at him with a determinedly human face. “I can’t control it, Scott.”_

_“Derek, let me help you,” Scott says. He steps forward with his arm outstretched, but Derek skitters back, shaking his head violently._

_“Don’t,” he snaps, “Scott, please don’t-” He drops to the floor with an agonized cry._

_“Derek!”_

_Derek drags his head up, and Scott’s stomach churns as he watches the bones of Derek’s skull shift. “Scott,” Derek rasps out as his jaw lengthens, blood running down his cheeks as they tear apart. “Run!”_

_The wolf springs with a roar, and Scott whirls and runs deep into the woods._


	2. Sleeping Beauty

[ ](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com)

 4. [When You Were Young - The Killers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ff0oWESdmH0)  
5. [Enchanted - Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrrCpcIvz8g)

* * *

 

Scott darts away from the trees, dropping to the ground as the dragon spits fire where he’d been standing. He rolls to the side and just barely grabs his shield in time to block another barrage of fire. He coughs ash from his lungs, then lifts his head to shout, “Is that all you got?”

He rolls again as a stream of fire belches towards him, and the scent of burning apples and pine leaves fills his nostrils as the woods catch fire. Scott yanks a spindle-sharp thorn out from a groove in his armor, grimacing as the forest of thorns he’d spent the better part of an hour fighting his way through vaporizes in a few scant seconds. “I should’ve come and bothered you sooner!” he calls out to the dragon. “At this point, you’re just doing my job for me!”

“Why do you even care about the Prince?” the dragon roars, voice ringing over his skin and cutting down to his bones like molten silver. “You don’t even know him. He means nothing to you!”

Scott ducks another stream of fire and rolls to his feet. “He needs help,” he says, peering through the smoke for the dragon’s vulnerable underbelly. “Maybe not _my_ help, but he needs someone’s help, and, well, I’m someone.” There. There’s the dragon’s chest, and her green-blooded heart beating just beneath. “So he _does_ mean something to me.”

“Then you’re a fool,” the dragon hisses, and rears back to draw in a breath. Scott dashes forward, sword raised high, and throws it as hard as he can.

Flames sear down his back. Scott scrambles out of the way, tearing off his armor before it melts into his skin. He drops to the ground, weaponless, defenseless, and shuffles back on burned skin and skinned palms as the dragon shrieks above him.

She rears back again, jaws opening wide to roast him down to ashes, but only faint plumes of smoke trickle out from between her fangs. Scott watches, hardly daring to breathe, as the dragon’s eyes widen, as her breaths come jagged and rasping, spitting flecks of blood that burn clean through his shirt and singe the skin beneath. The dragon roars one last time, coughing out a defiant shriek of rage, and then collapses to the ground with Scott’s sword buried deep in her heart.

He drops his head back, gasping lungfuls of ash-filled air as his head spins. He did it. He defeated the dragon. It’s over – well, almost. He rips off the tattered remains of his shirt and wipes the dragon’s blood away, wincing at the bubbling red skin where it had touched him, then drags himself to his feet and hobbles across the floor to pick up his shield. He wouldn’t want to retrieve his sword from the dragon’s heart even if he could, but he still has a dagger in his boot, so that should be enough against any other surprises. Or, well, it has to be.

It feels like an eternity as he limps his way up the stairs, struggling to draw pained breaths through lungs too choked from dragon smoke. His right ankle’s broken, he’s pretty sure, and he doesn’t even want to try looking at the dragonfire burns on his other leg. He’s grateful he thought to bring the shield, since he ends up using it as a crutch to hoist himself from one step to the next. Finally, _finally_ , he nears the door, reaches forward eagerly…then pauses when he sees his own outstretched hand.

It’s completely bare, clothed only in dirt from the forest and soot from the dragon. It’s rubbed raw, knuckles bloodied, palms rough with blisters and unsightly scrapes. Scott draws his hand back slowly, looking down at the rest of himself. His breeches are torn and stained with his own blood, his boots are caked in mud and reek of smoke, and he isn’t even wearing a shirt to cover his filthy chest. For a bizarre moment, he finds himself wishing for a circlet to at acknowledge his nobility, but then he realizes how ridiculous a piece of gold would look sitting amongst so much dirt and blood.

“Well, it’s not like they tell it in the stories,” he mutters to himself, and nudges the door open with his (half-melted, incredibly dented) shield. He pokes his (sweaty, bedraggled) head inside, half-expecting a three-headed dog or maybe a particularly territorial ogre to spring at him, but only silence greets him – unnervingly still, as if the entire room were holding its breath. He straightens slowly, squinting through the room lit only by the moon streaming through a small window, before finally approaching the bed.

It’s nothing like he’d expected. He hadn’t imagined an ornate bed carved of gold with a sweeping silk canopy, but he’d thought…well, he’d thought the curtains would be made of finer material than spun cotton dyed black as soot. The bed itself is equally plain, roughly-carved wood and dark sheets that snag over the blisters on Scott’s hand. And the Prince himself…

If it weren’t been for the ring on his finger, the royal crest carved deep into spiraling threads of gold, he could be mistaken for a particularly handsome young man from the countryside. Scott can see it from the fading blush on his sun-kissed cheeks, from his hands lined with callouses to match Scott’s own. Even asleep, he looks more comfortable in his simple shirt and breeches than in his neatly trimmed beard and hair styled in a fashionable swoop away from his forehead. He certainly didn’t grow up enclosed in a castle.

There’s something about him that seems so familiar, and Scott wishes he knew why. “I know you,” Scott hears himself say. “I walked with you, once upon a-” _time_ , he almost says, but that phrase makes no sense, sounds like something out of a children’s tale. “-dream,” he finishes lamely. Maybe they’d seen each other in the countryside as youths, or maybe when Scott used to ride through the forest. There had been a cottage by the lake, he remembers, and he used to hear singing late at night, as mournful and piercing as a wolf’s howl.

Maybe he had dreamed of this Prince, after all. It all seems so familiar, his broad shoulders and dark hair and bright blue eyes—

Scott blinks, shaking himself out of his reverie. The Prince’s eyes are closed, of course. Scott doesn’t know what they look like. They could be green, or gray, or hazel – Scott doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about this Prince, he doesn’t even know his name, and he certainly doesn’t know if he can break the spell. He turns the Prince’s hand over carefully, tracing the scarred puncture wound on a single finger. “I don’t know you,” he tells the sleeping Prince, “but I want to help you. I hope I can-” He pauses, sighs, and squeezes his hand gently. “I hope that’s enough.”

He leans forward, squeezes his eyes shut, and presses their lips together.

A soft gasp echoes beneath him. Scott cracks his eyes open to meet the Prince’s, so blue and bright that they almost glow in the wan moonlight. The Prince reaches up to cup Scott’s cheek, and the spindle’s scar brushes over his skin. ~~~~

The Prince smiles. “Hi.”

He smiles back. “Hi.” The Prince’s smile brightens, stabbing somewhere deep and sharp in Scott’s chest. He leans close to kiss him again, and Scott’s eyes slide shut as the Prince’s breath puffs warm and sweet across his face.

 

* * *

 

_Derek turns abruptly, so close that his cheek brushes Scott’s nose. “Do you feel that?” he asks._

_Scott feels his stomach churning with nerves, swooping in anticipation as heat spreads from the hand cupping his cheek. Derek looks towards the forest, though, jaw dropping as his feet sluggishly pull him towards it. “Derek?” Scott asks. His pounding heart takes up a new cadence, rapidly shifting from excitement to dread. “Derek, what’s going on?”_

_“It feels like…” Derek says, taking another step towards the trees. His face is slack, eyes unfocused and dull. “There’s something in there, Scott, it’s-” He drops to his knees with a howl, ripping his jacket off as he abruptly shifts into his beta form._

_“Derek!” For a split second, Derek’s blue eyes meet his, wide with unbridled terror. Then his leg sweeps out and hits Scott in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground as Derek sprints into the woods._

_Scott coughs, scrambling his phone out of his pocket and jumping to his feet. “Stiles,” he says when the call goes through, “Get everyone to the Preserve. There’s something going on, I don’t know what, but Derek was just forced into a shift and ran in there.”_

_Stiles swears on the other end. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ll call everyone, we’ll be there in fifteen. If you don’t know what’s going on, Scott, wait for us to-”_

_“I’m going in after him.” Scott jogs past the treeline, tilting his head back to catch Derek’s scent._

_“No, that is the exact opposite of what you need to do, Scott,” Stiles says. Scott hears scrambling in the background, and Malia’s voice talking into another phone. “You said it forced Derek into a shift? What if the same thing happens to you? Just wait ten minutes, okay?”_

_“I have to go after him,” Scott says. “His scent’s already going faint. If I wait any longer, I’m going to lose it.” Frustrated silence answers him, punctuated by the slam of the Jeep’s door. “We can’t lose him, Stiles.”_

_The Jeep revs to life. “Fine,” Stiles says. “But keep me on speakerphone until we get there.”_

_“Thanks, Stiles.” Scott shoves the phone into his hoodie and runs after Derek’s fading scent._


	3. Hansel and Gretel

[ ](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com)

6\. [Dirty Paws - Of Monsters And Men](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCHUw7ACS8o)  
7\. [Fifteen - Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pb-K2tXWK4w)

* * *

  

The faint scent of…something sweet, no, _sugary_ , paired with some sort of spice, wafts across Scott’s face. He tilts his head back, trying to place the scent, and then notices Stiles staring at him in utter perplexity. “You okay, bro?” Stiles asks slowly.

“Yeah, there’s just – can you smell that?” Scott asks.

“Smell what?” Stiles asks bitterly. “The rank stench of betrayal, Dad letting our evil Stepmom send us into the woods to freeze to death-”

“We won’t freeze to death. It’s the middle of summer,” Scott says.

“-or maybe it’s the stale breadcrumbs that all these damn blackbirds ate and now we’ll never find our way back home, just like that evil witch of a Stepmom wanted!” Stiles pushes past another bush of poisonous berries with a huff. “Fine, we probably won’t freeze to death, but these woods are huge. We’re never finding our way out. We’re gonna die here, Scott, we’re never gonna find any-”

“Food!” He grabs Stiles’ arm. That’s what he smells, it’s food, it’s…okay, he doesn’t know exactly _what_ it is, but it sure smells edible. “Stiles, I can smell food!”

Stiles pauses, sniffing at the air. His eyes widen. “Holy shit, you’re right,” he says. He cranes his neck forward, following his nose further into the woods. “It’s…cinnamon, and butter, and…some sort of fruit…”

“Apples,” Scott says as they stop at the edge of a clearing. “It’s apple pie.”

They stare at the cottage in the center of the clearing, covered in glazed crust and gingerbread and sugar-spun windows. The roof is shingled in bright candy, and gleaming bars of chocolate line the trimming. “Whoa,” Stiles breathes. “Scott, your nose is amazing!”

“I guess,” Scott says, squinting closer at the house. He can’t see apples anywhere, or any fruit at all, for that matter; the harder he tries to sniff it out, the more the scent of sugar and chocolate and rich gingerbread clogs his nostrils. Something feels off, something doesn’t seem right, but he can’t figure out what or why. He blinks as Stiles darts past him with a whoop. “Stiles, wait!”

“It’s _real!_ ” Stiles marvels, breaking a piece of chocolate off the window trim. “Scott, it’s really chocolate, all this food is real, this is amazing!” He glances over his shoulder, then spins around when he realizes that Scott isn’t right behind him. “Hey, come on! Eat something before you pass out!”

“It’s just…” Scott says, walking into the clearing with hesitant steps, “Why would there be a house made of sweets in the middle of the woods?”

“We’re not really in the _middle_ of the woods; I think we’re actually pretty far west,” Stiles says as he pulls a candy shingle off the roof.

“Okay, but still,” Scott says. He peers at a cluster of white berries hanging on the door. No, gumdrops, they’re white gumdrops, but they don’t smell right. They don’t smell like anything, actually. “Why is it here? It all feels too convenient, like…like it’s…”

 _“It’s a trap!”_ Stiles yells gleefully, then makes a face as if confused by his own words. Scott lifts down the cluster of gumdrops – berries – and sniffs them warily. He can’t pull out a scent at all, but his head spins. Stiles sighs down at his handful of gingerbread. “I just jinxed us, didn’t I.”

Mistletoe. That’s what the berries are. A house made of candy and mistletoe. “I think-” Scott begins, and then the door flies open and yanks him into the house.

 _“Scott!”_ Stiles shouts, but Scott can’t see anything in the pitch-black house and dust swirling around him. When sunlight finally cuts through the spun-sugar windows and peels the darkness away, Scott finds himself sitting on a wooden floor, surrounded by a small circle of soot.

“Scott!” He looks up to see Stiles run towards him, only to be yanked back by a pale hand on his shoulder. A witch towers over him, dark robes and even darker hair billowing around her in a gentle breeze. “Such naughty, ungrateful children,” she chides. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Stiles yells, thrashing in her grip. Scott tries to move towards them, but instead slams up against thin air.

“You stole from me,” the witch says, holding Stiles in place easily. “You damaged my home. You’re going to have to make that up to me.”

Stiles jerks free from her grip. “Fine,” he says, brushing at his shoulder. “But Scott didn’t eat anything, let him go.”

“Oh, no.” Her lips curve into a smile as red as blood. “He took my mistletoe. That’s an even graver crime, and for that, he must pay.” She waves her hand, and a broom flies off the wall and into Stiles’ hands. “You, Stiles, will clean the house from top to bottom until I deem your services complete. As for your brother…” She turns towards Scott, eyes gleaming white as mistletoe and chillingly empty. “Well, I’m afraid he’ll have to be dinner.”

“You can’t do that!” Stiles runs at the witch, but a heavy gust of wind blows him back before she even lifts a finger. “You can’t!”

She arches an elegant eyebrow. “Keep arguing with me, Stiles, and I may change my mind and eat him right now.” Stiles’ mouth snaps shut. “Good, you’re a fast learner. Now cheer up,” she says, ruffling his hair. “Think of this as a valuable life lesson: do not upset a witch.”

Scott sits inside the circle of ash while Stiles cleans the cottage. It’s small but surprisingly filthy, and the dust settles in Scott’s lungs until he can’t stop coughing. The witch stares down at him, arms crossed with a displeased slant to her mouth. “I’m starting to think your brother’s more trouble than he’s worth,” she tells Stiles, and whisks the dust out the window with a wave of her hand. “Stop sweeping and go heat up the oven instead.”

Stiles opens the oven door slowly, watching the witch with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“I’ve decided to start dinner early,” the witch says, frowning down at Scott as he struggles to control his wheezing. She turns and notices Stiles edging away from the oven door. “And what do you think you’re doing? Is the oven warm enough?”

“I – well, I don’t know,” Stiles says, gesturing helplessly at the dial on the wall. “We don’t have an oven like this at home, so I don’t know how to use it – is it magic?”

The witch stomps over to the oven with a huff. “Imbeciles, both of you,” she mutters. “You make the oven hotter with this,” she says, turning the dial. “And you can tell when it’s gotten hotter from the oven itself – hey!”

Stiles waits until the witch leans her head into the opening, then barrels forward and knocks her clean into the oven. He slams the door quickly before she can get up, bolts it, and turns the dial as high as it can go. The witch pounds on the door while gales whip through the cottage, and her enraged shrieks grow louder and louder until they finally peter out to an echoing wail.

The winds abruptly cease, and the circle around Scott breaks apart. Scott stumbles his way across the house to Stiles, coughing as the ash rains onto his face and down his throat. “Did,” he gasps out, “did you just-”

“She was going to kill you!” Stiles yells. “And also eat you, but she was going to _kill you_ , Scott! I couldn’t let her do that.”

They slowly back away from the oven, listening carefully for the witch through the crackling inferno. Stiles shivers. “Let’s just get out of here before anything else happens.”

Scott looks around the house, then walks to the desk in the corner. “Hang on.”

“Hang _on?_ ” Stiles repeats, eyes boggling. “Scott, I don’t know how to kill a witch. I don’t even know if I really did. We need to go _now_.”

“We also need to find our way through the woods so we don’t get lost and end up back here or somewhere worse,” Scott says. He pushes aside a stack of books, coughing as the movement unearths another plume of dust. “I thought I saw something when she was making you sweep – found it!” He holds up the map triumphantly.

Stiles’ mouth falls open. “That’s a map. You found us a map!”

Scott grins, handing it to Stiles as he follows him out the door. “The entire forest is on it,” he says, squinting down at it in the bright sunshine. “We just have to – hang on.”

Stiles looks up from the map, frowning when Scott pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something really heavy in my pocket,” Scott says. His hand connects with something hard, and he pulls it out slowly. “Uh, I don’t think the witch’s mistletoe was actually mistletoe.”

“What, were they actually gumdrops-” Stiles begins, then gapes down at the jewels in Scott’s hands: gleaming rose-red rubies and diamonds as pure as snow. “…Holy shit.”

“We’re gonna make it.” Scott can’t help the laughter that bubbles out, even it’s a little premature. There’s still the giant forest get through, but – they’re going to make it. He can tell. The worst is over, and now all that’s left is for them to have quick, uneventful journey home. “We’re going home.”

Stiles laughs along with him, and his grin is every bit as relieved as Scott’s. “We’re going home,” he repeats. He lets out a gusty sigh, then marches down the road. “Well, let’s get going!” he calls over his shoulder. Scott snorts and jogs to catch up with him. “The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there, the sooner we get to see Dad again.” His grin sours. “…And the evil Stepmom.”

“Well,” Scott says, trying to sound as diplomatic as possible, “with all the treasure we’re bringing back, we won’t have to worry about too many mouths to feed. So we’ll all be able to live together and learn to get along.”

“I guess so,” Stiles says. “But man, Braeden’s the _worst_.”

“Yeah, but – wait, _what?”_ Scott freezes, and the bag falls from his limp grasp. “ _Braeden_ – Stiles, she’s not.”

“She’s _terrible_ ,” Stiles spits, not waiting for Scott to catch up. “Always so demanding, only cares about her shoes, never can trust her-”

“Stiles!” Scott picks up the bag and runs after him. “Stiles, what are you talking about? Braeden saved our lives.”

Stiles snorts. “When?”

“When…” Scott stops again. A dark hall flashes into his mind, tall stone ceilings and walls lined with clanging metal. He gags as the scent of oil fills his nostrils, slick and greasy and seeping into his clothes, into his _skin_ – gasoline, his mind supplies, even though he has no idea what that means. Smoke from a bonfire, drums pounding loud in his head, squeezing tight around his skull and pressing in on his brain and Braeden sprinting in to save him. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye, Braeden fighting off his attackers with ease while her companion reaches down to help him up, dark hair and broad shoulders and bright blue eyes—

“Scott!” Stiles kneels in front of him in the dirt, shaking hands clutching his face. “Scott, can you hear me?”

Scott draws a breath and sucks in the scent of fresh air and bright green leaves. “Yeah,” he says, gulping air frantically into his lungs. He blinks around him. He’s here. He’s home. He’s not home, but he will be soon. He’s okay. He’s fine. Everything is fine. “Yeah, sorry. I just…”

“Got lightheaded?” Stiles asks. He squints up at the sun, then pulls a flask out of his bag. “Yeah, all that ash in the witch’s cottage wasn’t good for you, and it’s really hot out. Here, drink some water – sips, okay, no gulping – and then once we’re further in the forest, we’ll have plenty of tree cover.” He flashes Scott a cheery smile as he takes the flask back, but his eyes are still laced with badly-concealed worry. “You’ll feel better in no time.”

“Yeah.” Scott gets to his feet slowly, and they continue down the road. Stiles doesn’t skip ahead like before, though, but instead watches him carefully with twitching fingers ready to grab him if he falls. He’s every bit the Stiles that Scott has always known, his brother – his best friend – his best brother – but his words from before send chills down Scott’s spine.

Braeden has only ever been kind to them. Stiles doesn’t hate Braeden. He doesn’t, and those words weren’t him at all, even the way he spoke wasn’t him at all, and it sets Scott on edge. “You sure you’re okay?” Stiles asks him.

“Definitely,” Scott says. “Just had a weird moment, like…like…” He waits for Stiles to finish his sentence, just like before, but Stiles just watches him patiently. “Like a disturbance in the Force.”

He barely understands the words as they leave his mouth, and Stiles’ face immediately scrunches in confusion. “If you say so, Scotty,” he says, clapping his shoulder. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

Scott takes a breath, musters up as convincing a smile as he can manage – and Stiles falls for it. He smiles right back, pats Scott on the arm, and strolls down the road at a pace that’s downright _jaunty_. Scott walks after him, fast enough to stay near but slow enough to have some privacy for his spinning thoughts.

Stiles fell for his fake smile. Scott’s _never_ been able to fake a smile around Stiles; he’s always been transparent as glass when it came to his best friend – his brother. Scott doesn’t know what is and what isn’t, but he knows one thing for sure as he follows Stiles into the woods.

Something is wrong.

 

* * *

 

_“Something’s wrong,” Scott says. He pushes his hood back from his head, trying to get a better gauge of Derek’s suddenly-blank face. “Was it something I said?”_

_“No,” Derek says, voice pitching a hair too high to be casual. He crunches quickly into his apple. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m glad we’re all on the same page now.”_

_“Yeah, all two of us.” Scott snorts, but Derek doesn’t roll his eyes or fall for his bait. If anything, he shuts down even more, shifting anxiously in his seat. Scott sits up, leaning closer to Derek and then swaying back awkwardly as Derek’s shoulders tense. “I’m sorry for whatever I did, Derek.”_

_“It’s nothing you did.”_

_Scott waits for him to continue, but Derek sits quiet and uncomfortable, chewing his apple slowly. Scott sets his own half aside, setting his hand down carefully next to Derek’s. “Derek, whatever it is, you can tell me.”_

_“It’s not…” Derek licks his lips, staring at the ground. “I just – I didn’t mean to avoid you, Scott, I just…with Peter, and…” His gaze travels to Scott’s hand, resting a hair’s breadth from his own. “I was just afraid of losing you.”_

_“You won’t lose me,” Scott says. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Derek, I hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life.”_

_Derek laughs weakly, but the smile curling at the corners of his mouth is genuine. “Yeah, I think I can deal with that.”_

_“Good.” Scott watches his shoulders slowly relax. He leans closer, as close as he can without actually touching Derek, until the faded red sleeve of his hoodie just barely brushes against Derek’s soft blue jacket. “Derek,” he asks, voice hushed, “why did you follow me out here tonight?”_

_Derek slowly lifts his head to look at Scott, heart hammering loud and nerve-wracked in Scott’s ears. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t blink, just gazes steadily into Scott’s eyes as he moves his hand to cover Scott’s._

_Scott’s breath catches, his chest squeezing tight as warmth shoots down his spine. “Yeah?” he breathes, pressing closer as he winds their fingers together._

_Derek stares back at him, eyes hesitant and hopeful before clearing into a bright smile. “Yeah.”_

_Scott grins as Derek’s eyes drop to his mouth before darting back up to his eyes. “Yeah.” Derek leans in, cradling Scott’s cheek gently, and Scott tilts his head up as Derek’s breath ghosts warm and sweet over his lips._


	4. Snow White and Rose Red

[8\. We Lost Magic - Empires](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1gYrXl7CsFA)  
9\. [The Story Of Us - Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nN6VR92V70M)

* * *

 

Scott steps through the trees at the edge of the forest, tilting his head up to catch the first drops of rain. “Scott!” his sister calls from the doorway. “You’re gonna freeze out there, get inside!”

He laughs, licking the sweet rainwater from his lips. “A little rain won’t hurt me.” He blinks his eyes open, wiping the rain away as he turns back towards the house. “First rainfall of autumn, Lydia, come on-”

He pauses, squinting at a flash of movement deep in the woods. “Scott?” Lydia shouts. “Come on, it’s getting dark!”

“I saw something,” Scott says. “In the woods. There’s something-” The thing flashes through the trees again, close enough for Scott to catch a glimpse of bright blue eyes. “There’s someone in the woods.”

The flash stumbles, slows, and falls to a shadow just beyond the trees. “They’re hurt!” Scott yells, running into the woods. “We have to help them!”

“Scott!” Lydia yells after him, but her voice is quickly drowned out by the pouring rain. Scott runs into the woods, following a trail of snapped branches and muddy tracks until he finds a dark form half-hidden under a bush. Lydia splashes to a stop next to him, clutching his arm as she gasps. “It’s a wolf?”

He kneels slowly. The wolf stares back at him with unblinking blue eyes, and then Scott notices his mangled leg. “He’s hurt,” he says. “Lydia, help me bring him inside.”

“Mom is _not_ going to let us bring a wolf inside,” Lydia hisses, but helps him lift the wolf anyway. It’s slow going through the slippery mud, but finally they manage to get the wolf into the house and laid out in front of the fire.

Lydia bolts the door while Scott adds another log to the fire. “His leg is broken,” he tells his sister. “We just need to find some bandages, and I can splint it-”

“Splint what now?”

They jump, then guiltily turn to face their mother. She shakes her dark hair out of her face and plants her hands on her hips. “Alright, which one of you is going to explain why you decided to bring a _wolf_ into the house.”

Scott exchanges a nervous glance with Lydia. “Well,” they say in unison, then glance at each other again. Mom sighs in exasperation. “We, um…there was…”

“It’s my fault,” a soft voice says.

Lydia lets out an involuntary yelp. Scott whirls, eyes wide as he watches the wolf struggle to lift his head. “I was lost in the rain,” the wolf continues, “and I followed a voice in the woods until I saw…” He draws a labored breath. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Mom stares, then abruptly snaps out of her surprise. “Nonsense,” she says firmly. “That leg needs medical attention.” She pushes up her sleeves and sets a lamp near the wolf. “Lydia, go get the bandages. Scott, do you remember what I taught you about splints?”

The wolf blinks muzzily at her, then at Scott as he kneels next to his mother. “Thank you,” he says, and his voice sounds even weaker than before. “I’ll be gone at first light, I promise.”

“Not on that leg, you won’t,” Mom says. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need to get better. In fact, I insist upon it.”

The wolf flinches as Mom begins to clean his leg. Scott winds his hand through the scruff of the wolf’s neck and grins when the wolf relaxes, tucking his chin over Scott’s knee. “She’ll hold you to it,” he tells the wolf. “Probably’ll go chasing after you into the woods and drag you back by the tail if you run off too soon.”

The wolf sighs, and his tail thumps once against the floor. His eyes slide up to meet Scott’s, exhausted and faintly amused. “I guess I have no choice, then.”

Mom doesn’t let the wolf venture outside until two days later, and only to wander along the edge of the woods with Scott and Lydia. He leans against Scott while he walks, always apologizing for being a nuisance and ducking his head away from their protests. They bring food and blankets to the edge of the lake and spend the days playing on its shore, burying the wolf in crisp yellow leaves and plucking the last flowers from the grass to weave into his fur. He rolls his eyes with a huff as Scott drapes a daisy crown on his head, but Scott catches the jaunty tilt of his ears and the pleased grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. Lydia picks ripe apples from the trees, inspecting them carefully for bruises before feeding them to the wolf in small morsels.

On the fifth day, they wake to a faint drizzle that quickly turns into a downpour. Lydia bakes their leftover apples into a pie while the wolf lies by the fire, resting his head on Scott’s lap while he tells them stories of a kingdom far beyond the forest, where magic was scarce but wolves ran wild and free. The downpour continues all day, and all night, and all through the next day, so Scott and Lydia curl up on the floor with the wolf while their mother sleeps. He tells them more about the kingdom beyond the forest, with its beacons lit high upon hills and a lonely Prince. They listen with rapt attention as the Prince wanders his kingdom alone, longing for lost family or long-forgotten friends, as the last traces of magic leave the kingdom and the Prince falls under a terrible curse. “And so he left the kingdom and ventured deep into the woods,” the wolf says, and the dying embers of the fire crackle and hiss behind him. “And he knew not why he went, or where he was to go, but he knew that he had to go if ever wanted to be happy again.”

Scott blinks as the wolf yawns and lays his head back down onto Scott’s leg. “Wait, that’s how it ends?” he asks. “That can’t be how it ends.”

“No, the story doesn’t end there,” the wolf says, closing his eyes with a long sigh. “I’ll tell the rest in the morning.”

“But-” Scott begins, but Lydia stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Let him sleep, Scott,” she says. “He’s been telling us stories all day; we can wait until morning for this one.”

Scott looks down at the wolf, fast asleep with his weight leaning into Scott’s lap. He runs a hand down his scruff, and the wolf’s tail twitches. “I just…I need to know how it ends,” he says quietly. There’s something about it setting him on edge, making him twitchy and uneasy as if he’s missing something. It’s just on the tip of his tongue, hovering at the edge of his mind, and he needs to understand, needs to _remember_. “I have to finish the story.”

“Well, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Lydia says. She stands, stretching with a long yawn. “You gonna be okay down here, or you want to take the bed tonight?”

“No, he’s already comfortable; I don’t want to wake him up,” Scott says, gesturing at the wolf. “I’ll stay here with him.”

Lydia smiles, eyes soft and fond. “Just like last night, and the night before that,” she says, handing over a blanket. “Make sure you get some sleep, Scott.”

“I will,” Scott says. He smiles at her until she climbs into bed and falls asleep, then turns back to the glowing embers of the fire.

He has to remember. He’s forgotten something terribly important, and he needs to… “I have to finish the story,” he murmurs. The words sit heavy and insistent in his mind, squeezing his lungs tight until he remembers to breathe. He shudders, petting the wolf softly, and waits for the rain to lull him to a sleep that he knows won’t come.

The seventh day dawns bright and sunny, not a single cloud in the sky, and the wolf announces that he has to leave before Lydia can even offer him the last apple tart. Scott waits as the wolf says his goodbyes to their mother, then to Lydia, then finally turns to him. “Do you really have to go?” Scott asks, and winces at how plaintive his words sound.

“I wish that I didn’t,” the wolf says, ears drooping sadly. He steps forward and tucks his snout against Scott’s neck, sighing as Scott wraps his arms around his scruff. “But I have to. It’s time for me to go.”

Scott nods, pulling his arms away. “How…” he asks, swallows, and tries again. “How does the story end? With the lonely Prince?”

The wolf blinks, blue eyes wide. “Oh,” he says, looking down at the ground. “Well, I imagine he lives happily ever after.”

Scott’s brows draw together. “You don’t know how the story ends?”

“No.” The wolf shakes his head, then looks up at Scott. “But I want to believe that I do.” He stares at Scott for a long moment, bright blue eyes freezing his breath and rooting him in place, then he turns and disappears into the woods.

Lydia lets Scott mope for the rest of the day and all night, then drags him out of the house the next day. “It’s beautiful out, Scott!” she says, leading him into the woods. “Who knows when we’ll get a sunny day like this again.”

“It’s autumn; who cares,” Scott mutters. “The days are already getting shorter anyway.”

Lydia sighs at him, lips pursed. “Come on, Scott. Snap out of it. You’re acting like you’ve never met a talking wolf before.”

“I haven’t,” Scott says, blinking at her in confusion. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I think I saw some more apples in that clearing!” Lydia says, skipping ahead. “We won’t get any more until spring, come on! You love apples!”

“The wolf loved apples,” Scott mumbles as he follows her further into the woods. The back of his neck prickles, and he pauses. “Lydia, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Lydia asks, and then a hand bursts through the leaves and sinks into Scott’s side.

He falls with a scream of pain, scrambling back as Lydia runs towards him. “Scott?” she shouts, staring around the piles of red leaves with wide eyes. “What happened?”

Scott hisses through his teeth, peeling back his shirt to see blood pouring from deep scratches in his side. “Something attacked me,” he says, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what…Lydia!”

The hand darts out from the leaves and latches around Lydia’s ankle, pulling her into the dense pile of red. “Let go!” she shrieks, kicking at the hand clawing gouges into her ankle. Scott runs forward and grabs her by the waist, tugging her free. An arm follows the hand out of the leaves, then a shoulder, a torso…Scott finally rips the hand away from Lydia’s leg and stares at the red-faced dwarf snarling at them.

“You almost stepped on me!” the dwarf yells, pointing at Scott. “And you, girl, you kicked all those leaves over me when you ran over here, not even looking where you were looking! Such rude children.”

Scott exchanges stunned glances with Lydia before turning back to the dwarf. “We’re very sorry, sir,” he says as politely as he can. “We didn’t mean to. Is there anything we can do to help you?”

“Does it look like I need help?” the dwarf snaps indignantly. “Of course I do! Here I was, just minding my own business, and then this evil tree came and caught my shirt in its roots!” He kicks the tree trunk, face reddening in anger. “I’ve been trapped all day!”

Scott and Lydia glance at each other again. “Well, we can try and see if we can get it free,” Scott says. They step carefully around the dwarf, Lydia clutching Scott’s arm while she hobbles on her wounded leg, and crouch to inspect the shirt tangled in the tree’s roots. Scott tugs at the shirt as hard as he can, but it refuses to budge. “I’m afraid it’s stuck, sir.”

“No kidding!” the dwarf yells, clenching his hands into fists. “I already told you that, you imbecile!”

“Now, calm down, sir,” Lydia says, lips pursed. “We can still help you.” She pulls her paring knife from her pocket and cuts quickly around the roots. “There! You’re free.”

The dwarf tumbles away from the tree, springs to his feet, then stares down at his shirt in horror. “Look at what you’ve done!” he shouts. “You cut it all to shreds!”

“We’re sorry,” Lydia says, exchanging an annoyed glance with Scott. “But we had to cut it. I do apologize for that tear down your collar, though.”

The dwarf glances down at the middle of his shirt, where the collar is split open down his chest in a deep vee. “That was already like that.”

“Oh,” Scott says. Lydia’s nose wrinkles. “It’s…very…fashionable.”

“Of course it is,” the dwarf says with a sniff. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than-” He stills, eyes widening at something over their. “No!” he yelps quickly, backing up against the tree. “It’s not me you want, it’s these two, they’re the ones who-”

A dark blur rushes past them, lunging at the dwarf. Scott pushes Lydia behind him, heart pounding, then the wolf turns around from the dwarf’s fallen body. _Their_ wolf, from seven days ago. “I won’t hurt you,” he says. “It’s me.”

Scott freezes, and Lydia slowly steps next to him. “What’s going on?” she demands.

The wolf steps out of the red leaves, then rears up onto his hind legs, then – then a ripple shudders through his body, and his head tilts back to reveal a completely human face. “The story I told you was true,” he says, stepping forward as the wolf pelt settles around his shoulders. “It’s mine.”

Lydia’s mouth falls open. “You’re The Prince,” Scott breathes.

The Prince nods, eyes shining as bright and blue as they always have. “I am,” he says. “And I was cursed by that dwarf, but you saved me.” He steps forward and clasps their hands in his. “I always knew that my true love would set me free.”

Scott’s stomach sinks. “Lydia,” he says, voice faint as a whisper. “Lydia was the one who cut the dwarf free.”

“Yes,” the Prince says, beaming at Scott as he removes the wolf pelt from his shoulders. “I always knew that one day I would meet my one true love. And I would know them from their skin white as snow and lips red as blood.”

Something lurches tight and cold in Scott’s chest as the Prince drapes the pelt over Lydia’s shoulders, positively glowing with joy as he leans down to kiss her. Skin white as snow, lips red as blood. “Snow White,” Scott whispers, brows creasing in confusion. Snow White, but another Snow White, another name, another…

Another story.

That’s why everything seems so familiar – they’re _stories_. He’s seen Snow White before – he’s _been_ Snow White before. And his Prince never came then, and now his Prince has come at last but not for him, because he isn’t…because he’s not…

The Prince turns to Scott, grinning broadly with his hands clasped in Lydia’s. “And you, Scott, you’ll come back with us! You’ll marry my cousin, and we’ll be princes together.” He leans in and clasps Scott’s shoulder, eyes dancing with a smile that’s so familiar, dark hair and broad shoulders and the woods, deep in the woods, just beyond the woods in the shadow of the moon. “Scott, we’re brothers now.”

Scott swallows, rough bark digging into bare flesh as his arm stings from the bolt of a crossbow – and then he steps back, touching nothing but air, and his arm is fine. “Yeah,” he says, and forces out a smile. “Yeah, we’re a family now.”

The Prince squeezes his shoulder, beaming, then turns back to Lydia, tucking their heads together as they beam so brightly that they could replace the sun. They’re so happy, they look so happy together, and Scott can’t get in the way of that. Scott can’t stop that. Scott wouldn’t _want_ to stop that. He has to finish the story, no matter what. He steps back, then again, and again, until the woods draw darker around him and rough bark presses cool and comforting at his back.

 

* * *

 

_He leans back against the tree, shifting until his hood stops snagging on the bark. “So, is there anything cool you can do on a blue moon?”_

_Derek raises an eyebrow. “You mean, like tonight?”_

_“Yeah.” Scott shrugs. “You’re the one who brought up cool moon magic; now I’m curious.”_

_“‘Cool moon magic?’” Derek snorts, shaking his head. “Well, blue moons are more difficult. They’re rare, for one, and it depends on the other full moons – like, this one’s between the Flower Moon and the Strawberry Moon, so…”_

_“Strawberry Moon?” Scott repeats._

_“Some places call it the Rose Moon,” Derek says with a shrug._

_“Roses and strawberries, very romantic,” Scott says. “Aren’t they, like, aphrodisiacs or something?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“Yeah, me neither,” Scott says with a shrug. “Doesn’t really apply to me, so I never really paid attention.”_

_Derek looks over at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”_

_“Because I’m ace,” Scott says. “I told you that, right?” Derek shakes his head. “Oh. Well, I am.”_

_“Oh.” Derek looks at Scott, then down at his hands, then back up at Scott. His mouth lifts in a tiny, just barely hopeful grin. “Me, too.”_

_“Cool.” Scott moves closer, knocking their shoulders together. “Thanks for telling me.”_

_“You told me first.”_

_“Yeah, but you still didn’t have to tell me, so.” He grins up at Derek. “It means a lot to me that you did.”_

_Derek smiles, gaze landing somewhere near Scott’s shoulder. “Well, it means a lot to me that you did, too.”_

_Scott grins back at him, then leans back on his elbows with a sigh. “Man, now I want strawberries.”_

_Derek barks out a laugh, staring down at Scott with raised eyebrows. “Really? Strawberries?” Scott shrugs, and Derek reaches into his jacket. “All I’ve got is an apple. Is that good enough?”_

_He stares as Derek pulls an apple out of his pocket. “Why’d you bring an apple with you?”_

_Derek shrugs and splits the apple down its middle. “I like apples. Want some?”_

_Scott laughs helplessly. “You avoid me for an entire month, and now you’re feeding me apples,” he says. “Sometimes you’re a real mystery, Derek Hale.”_

_Derek coughs. “Well, I try.” He holds out half of the apple, and Scott reaches for it with a grin._


	5. Rapunzel

10\. [The Calendar - Panic! at the Disco](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYQ5Fs4jsD4)  
11\. [Sad Beautiful Tragic - Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7HhN5u2GPw)

* * *

 

Scott reaches for the braid tumbling down from the tower’s lone window, leaning back against the cool stone wall as even more hair falls towards him. He tugs the braid carefully, waits for an answering tug, then grins and starts the long climb up the tower wall.

“Scott!”

Malia pulls him into a tight hug as soon as he climbs through the window, pressing a smacking kiss to his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you so much.”

Scott squeezes her tight and drops a kiss on her forehead. “I missed you, too, Malia. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” He turns and pulls up the end of her braid from the window, winding it neatly while Malia sets out bread and apples on the table. She rubs her hands nervously as she sits, and he frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” She looks down at her hands, then up at Scott. “Oh, yeah, I just – stabbed myself while I was spinning the other day, silly me, you know how clumsy I am.” She crunches noisily into her apple. “So did you get everything you needed on your trip?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, tearing off a chunk of bread. “I just wish I didn’t have to go so far to get them. I know you get lonely when you’re up here all by yourself.”

“Yeah, I was definitely alone the whole time,” Malia says, nodding eagerly. “I mean, I was lonely – I mean, I wasn’t lonely, but I was. Alone. Yeah.”

Scott blinks. “Malia,” he says slowly, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Malia says quickly, eyes wide. “I’m just still…frazzled…from the spindle. You know, there was blood, and I get so nervous when I see blood, you know, and – I think I broke it, actually, I think I need a new spindle.”

“Oh.” Scott swallows his mouthful of bread and glances at the slowly darkening sky. “I can go get you a new one tomorrow. Let me just grab the old one so I get the right size-”

“I’ll do it!” Malia dashes forward and pushes his outstretched hand away from the wardrobe, practically bracing her body against its doors. “It’s just, um, it’s a huge mess in there and everything’s going to fall as soon as I open the door, so.”

“Well, luckily for us, I’m a witch,” Scott says. He rolls up his sleeves. “I’ll make sure nothing falls.”

Malia doesn’t move. “But, I mean, that’s such a waste of your magic, and, and you must be tired from your trip, so I’ll just take care of it myself while you rest.”

Scott looks back at the table. The apples Malia had brought out were fresh, picked as recently as yesterday or even today – definitely not from days ago when he’d left. “I know what’s going on, Malia,” he says, turning back around.

Her eyes widen. “You do?”

“You went outside to pick apples from the trees while I was gone,” Scott says with a nod. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

Malia heaves a sigh, leaning heavily against the wardrobe. “It was just…it’s the end of autumn, and most of them had already fallen off the tree, and I was worried – I thought they might all be gone by the time you got back, and I know you love apples, so I thought I’d go get them myself. It wasn’t far,” she adds quickly. “My hair never even left the tower, I didn’t go further than the rose forest.” She lets out a shaky laugh. “Wouldn’t have wanted to get tangled up in all those thorns.”

Scott takes her hands, squeezing gently. “Thank you for being honest with me,” he says, and Malia smiles nervously. “I know all these years I’ve been trying to protect you, because there are some very dangerous people out there, but…” He sighs. “I’ve been holding you back. I’ve been keeping you cooped up in here, and I should’ve realized you’re not a child anymore. You’re a grown woman,” he says, ruffling her hair. Malia ducks away with a squawk. “And of course you’ll want to see the world, and I should be teaching you how to take of yourself instead of just hiding you away.” He pats her hand. “So how about tomorrow we both go to the market to get you a new spindle, and I’ll show you around?”

Malia’s face lights up. “Really?” she asks, grinning from ear to ear, and throws her arms around him. “I’d love that, Scott!”

He pats her on the back. “And you didn’t want me opening the wardrobe because that’s where you hid the roses you picked, right?” Malia nods into his shoulder. “Well, go find a vase. Let’s put them in water before they wilt.”

“Um.” Malia edges her way in front of him as he steps towards the wardrobe. “I don’t remember where we keep our vases. I’ll get the roses.”

“They’re in the cupboard, right next to the cups,” Scott says. He tugs the wardrobe’s handle, frowns when it doesn’t budge, then unlocks it with a tap of his finger.

“Scott, wait-”

“What’s wrong?” Scott asks, smiling back at Malia as he opens the wardrobe, and then something large and heavy falls on top of him.

It rolls off him immediately. Scott jumps to his feet, magic pooling in his hands as Malia runs to stand in front of it – in front of the young man. “Scott, wait!”

“What is – _who_ is this?” Scott demands. He can’t get a clear glimpse of the man, hidden almost entirely behind Malia. “Malia, why did you let someone into our home?”

“He’s a good person!” Malia says quickly, backing away towards the window. “Scott, he’s kind, and he’s nice, and – he’s good, Scott, I swear he is, please don’t hurt him.”

“I – what?” Scott stares at her, brows furrowing. She inhales sharply and edges even further in front of the man. “I’m not going to hurt him, Malia, I just want to talk to him.”

Malia looks back at the man, nods, then slowly lowers her arm. Scott steps forward, pasting what he hopes is a cheery smile onto his face. “Hello,” he says, hand outstretched, “My name is-”

He freezes as he sees the man’s face, pale skin flecked with moles and light brown eyes. “…I know you,” he hears himself whisper. “I know your face, I know your name, _I know you_.”

The man steps back, nervous eyes darting towards Malia. “I…I’ve never met you before in my life, sir,” he says, and Scott knows that voice, he’s known it his whole life as familiar as his own family. His head pounds as memories burst in his mind, different lives crashing together and tearing each other to pieces. A red hood, a grinning dwarf, a face whirling around from a fiery oven, stepping into a pool of gasoline, screaming his name from the other side of a cold stone wall, a land without magic, the moon shining bright in the woods, the woods, _the woods_ —

“Scott?” Malia asks.

He stumbles forward, towards the man. “I know you,” he says, fighting past the storm in his mind, the blizzard of memories colliding right and wrong and all too familiar behind his eyes. “I know you. I know…”

The man backs up, hands braced on the windowsill. “I don’t know you,” he says, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t – Malia, what’s going on?”

“Scott!” Malia shouts. “Scott, please, _stop!”_

He reaches towards the man. “You,” he says, and a name lights in his mind as bright as a flare. “ _Stiles_.”

Stiles’ eyes widen, breath stilling in his lungs. “Malia,” he croaks out, “How does he know…” Scott’s hands glow – but they shouldn’t glow, he doesn’t know magic, he isn’t a witch, he’s never been a witch, this is all wrong. Stiles scrambles back with a shout that abruptly curdles into a scream as he falls out the window.

Malia dashes to the window, shoving Scott out of the way. “ _Stiles!_ ” she screams, and a terrible crash echoes from outside the tower. The roses – the _thorns_. He fell into the forest of thorns. “Stiles…oh, god…” She whirls, face twisted in anger. “You killed him!”

“No.” Scott runs to the window and watches Stiles tumble free from the forest of thorns. “No, he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s…” His stomach drops when he finally catches a glimpse of Stiles’ face, taut and pained with blood streaming from his eyes. “…No.”

Malia shoves him back from the window. “You did this to him!” she yells. “He’s the only friend I ever had, and you – you had to take that from me, too, didn’t you?”

“Malia, I-”

“All my life, you’ve always taken everything from me,” Malia seethes. “You took me away from my family, you took me away from everything I knew, you trapped me in _this_ -” She tugs at her heavy gown, eyes blazing. “Trapped me in your perfect little pet project that I never asked for. I never asked for any of this, Scott! I just wanted…I just…”

He steps forward as her lip trembles, as her eyes well with tears. “Malia,” he says. “Malia, I’m so sorry, I never meant to-”

“Stay away from me.” She pushes his hand away and backs towards the window. “You can’t keep me here anymore, Scott. You can’t hold me back anymore, you can’t control me, _you’re not my father_.”

“Your-” Scott blinks at the last words, dumbfounded, while Malia throws her braid over the hook and climbs onto the windowsill. Something clicks in the back of his mind, but the pieces keep sliding away before he can put them all together. “Wait!”

“I have waited for _sixteen years_ ,” Malia says, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve waited my whole life, Scott. I’m not going to wait anymore.” She stares at him for a long moment, lips trembling, then she leaps out the window.

“Malia!” Scott lunges forward, but he’s too late, grasping thin air as Malia slides down the tower. She hisses in pain when she lands hard on one leg, her hair tugging too tight from too little slack, and she reaches up with a suddenly clawed hand to – “Malia, wait!”

“It’s your turn to wait, Scott,” Malia shouts, and cuts her hair with a vicious swipe. The braid flies back up the tower, brushing Scott’s shoulder as it lands just inside the window. He watches as she limps towards Stiles, tucking their faces close for a moment before they disappear into the woods without so much as a backward glance.

Scott stares out at the springy grass at the tower’s base. It’s too far to fall, he’d never make it, he’s seen what happens when someone falls from that height, dark hair and dulled eyes and a broken body at the bottom of an escalator—

He staggers back from the window, clutching his head frantically. “This isn’t happening,” he gasps, sliding down the cold stone wall and curling into a tight ball. “This isn’t – I don’t know what – this isn’t…” He draws a shuddering breath. “This isn’t real,” he says, but his words ring false and flat in the dead air. “This isn’t real, this can’t be real, I’d never – I can’t have – I-”

Wind howls outside, blowing hail through the window and cutting into his face. He squeezes his eyes shut with a sob, tears spilling to mix with the blood streaming down his cheeks. “This can’t be happening,” he whispers. “This can’t be real.”

 

* * *

 

 _“Oh, this_ can’t _be real.” Scott bats Derek’s hand away with a snort and fixes his hair. “Derek Hale, laughing? You feeling okay?”_

 _Derek rolls his eyes. “I_ do _laugh sometimes, you know.”_

_“Yeah, I know,” Scott says. “Guess I’m just not really used to it yet.” He nudges Derek’s arm, scrunching his nose in a smile. “It’s a good look on you.”_

_Derek ducks his head, the tips of his ears reddening in the moonlight, then turns back to the stars with a faint smile. He looks…content. Calm and relaxed in a way that Scott hasn’t seen in him for a while, and something settles warm and solid in his chest. Derek glances at him, slowly raising an eyebrow. “What?”_

_“You just…look really happy,” Scott says, grinning at him. “You’ve been pretty tense lately-”_

_“I have not.”_

_“-and this is the first time in, like, a month that you’ve actually talked to me for longer than five minutes, so.” Scott shrugs. “I’m just glad you’re doing okay.”_

_Derek blinks, gaze dropping to the boulder beneath them. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” he says._

_“Sure, okay.”_

_“I wasn’t! Well, I wasn’t_ trying _to,” Derek amends. He sighs, scratching at a patch of moss. “I found out Peter got his hands on some old magic books. I thought he might’ve been planning something like he did on that Worm Moon, but…”_

_Scott shrugs. March’s full moon came and passed without incident several months ago. “I mean, it’s not like he can resurrect himself again when he’s already alive.”_

_Derek rolls his eyes, but Scott catches his fond smile before he ducks his head. “I didn’t mean the exact same thing,” he says. “Just something like that. There’s plenty of things you can do on full moons, Scott.”_

_“Oh?” Scott moves closer. “Like what?”_

_“You don’t want to know.”_

_“All right, fine, keep your secrets,” Scott says, nudging Derek with a laugh._

_Derek doesn’t join in, though, and his smile fades. “I just…I was just worried,” he says. “Thought something might happen to you.”_

_“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Derek.”_

_Derek raises an eyebrow. “Somehow, I don’t really believe that.”_

_“Well, if something_ does _happen, we’ll deal with it the same way we always have,” Scott says. He shrugs, leaning back against a tree. “But nothing’s going to happen to me.”_


	6. King Frost

[ ](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com)

12\. [Kill The Lights - The Birthday Massacre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HzhLj8UMOkE)  
13\. Wonderland - Taylor Swift

* * *

  

“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” Liam says. He ducks his head as wind swirls around them, buffeting the snow cold and hard into their faces. The sun finally disappears below the horizon, and Liam tugs Scott insistently back to the house. “Don’t worry about him, Scott. C’mon, get inside where it’s warm, I can hear you wheezing already.”

Scott takes a breath, air straining cold and tight in his lungs. “I’m fine,” he says, stopping in the doorway to squint out into the dark woods. Melting snow trickles down his face, so cold that it almost burns against his skin. “But…it’s the dead of winter, Liam. If he doesn’t make it back soon, he’ll freeze.”

“Derek’ll find his way back, Scott. He always does.”

“But-” Scott leans back as the door slams shut so abruptly that it grazes his nose. “Don’t keep the door open like that, Scott,” Mom says, bolting it firmly. “You’ll let the cold in. Liam, bolt the door.”

“But-” Scott blinks as their mother turns back to the fire. “But Derek hasn’t come back yet. He’s still out there, we have to-”

“Have to what, Scott?” Mom asks, whirling on him. “Have to go out in the dark and look for him when it’s his own fault he got lost? Do you know how big the woods are, Scott? The snow’s already covered his tracks, you wouldn’t even know where to start looking for him. Knowing his luck, he’ll probably find his way back safe and sound and leave _you_ to freeze in the woods.”

Scott takes an involuntary back, swallowing hard at the bitter cold in his mother’s eyes. She wouldn’t – she would never. This can’t be right. This can’t be – “Mom,” he tries, but his voice croaks weak and feeble in the chill air. “Mom, you…but you always said-”

“Of course we help others,” Mom says, running her hand down the back of his head. It grates over his skin and snags on his hair, cold and clawing instead of warm and comforting, and it’s all wrong, everything is wrong. “That’s why I took in Liam and Derek, isn’t it? But it’s been a harsh winter, and it’s not easy to feed so many mouths.”

“Mom.” His breath freezes in his lungs. “Mom, you don’t mean…you _didn’t_ …”

Mom sighs. “We needed more blue flowers.”

Scott blinks as the words echo in his ears, eerily familiar. “Blue flowers with red thorns.”

Mom nods. “Exactly. We needed more, because the winter’s been very harsh on your breathing sickness, Scott, and Derek knew that. So when he heard that there were blue flowers growing in the woods, he insisted on traveling to find them.”

“But there aren’t any,” Scott says, brow furrowing. “There aren’t any blue flowers in the woods, who told him…” He looks up at his mother, throat drying. “Mom, _no_.”

“We can get by feeding three mouths,” Mom says, smoothing her apron primly. “Not four.”

Scott gapes as she turns back to the fire, stirring the soup as casually as if she hadn’t…as if Derek wasn’t…

Liam runs to the window with a shout. “There’s someone outside!” he yells, pressing his nose against the glass. “He’s covered in furs and jewels!”

“Jewels? Furs?” Mom runs to the door, hurriedly lifting the bolt away from the door. “Well, let’s let them in, of course, it’s very cold out…” She trails off as the door creaks open.

Scott’s jaw drops. “Derek!” Liam yells, running forward and tugging him inside. “See, Scott, I told you he’d make it back.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Derek says, shrugging out of one fur coat, then another, then three more. “I thought I’d left markers to find my way back, but they must’ve gotten covered by the snow, and – I found the flowers, Scott!” he adds quickly, holding out a sack stuffed full with blue flowers and red thorns. “So the cold won’t be as harsh for you anymore.”

Scott looks down at Derek’s hands instead of his eyes, so eager and uncertain as he presses the sack into Scott’s hands. “Thank you, Derek,” he says, swallowing around a suddenly stinging throat, and Derek beams at him.

Mom drags a heavy chest over the threshold and into the house, brushing snow away from the finely-carved wood. “Where did you get this?” she asks, eyes wide.

“It was King Frost,” Derek says. He lays the coats on the table, then tugs awkwardly at his cloak, blue as the sky and embroidered with bright gold thread. “He found me in the woods and gave me this cloak to keep warm, and even more coats, and he sent me back here with that chest.” Derek laughs, stunned and disbelieving. “He saved my life.”

Mom flings the chest open and pulls out handfuls of gold coins and exquisite jewelry. “There’s so much,” she murmurs to herself, then turns back to Derek. “Was he still there when you left? Is he still in the woods?”

Her eyes glitter in the light, the weak fire and shining coins reflecting in her gaze, and Derek glances nervously at Scott. “I think so, maybe,” he says. “But I wouldn’t-”

“Liam, put on your coat and go into the woods,” Mom orders, kneeling down in front of the chest. She lifts out an ornate necklace as a grin stretches taut across her face. “You’re going to meet King Frost.”

“What?” Derek demands. “It’s pitch-dark out there. It’s freezing. He’ll never-”

“King Frost will save him, just like he saved you,” Mom says, nodding her head insistently. “And then he’ll give him furs and finery and we’ll be so much richer, we’ll never have to worry about mouths to feed again.”

“But-”

“He’s going, and that’s final!” Mom snaps, eyes cold with fury as she stares Derek down. “If you’re so concerned, then you go out there with him. See how bold you are without your fancy new cloak.”

Derek stares back at her, then he reaches up and shoves back his hood. “Fine. I will, and-”

“No.” Scott grabs his wrist. “No, I’ll go with him.” He turns to his mother, pasting on a fake smile. “We’ll both go meet King Frost, okay, Mom?” Mom nods absently, not looking up from counting coins in the chest, and Scott tries to ignore the pit settling in his stomach. This isn’t – it can’t be – something is wrong. Something is wrong, and this isn’t right, and as he watches his mother change more and more from the kind-hearted woman who’d raised him, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s about to lose something terribly important.

Or, even worse, that he’s already lost it.

He turns away from his mother and walks to the door, but Derek grabs him by the shoulder. “Scott,” he says, “don’t go. Neither of you. It’s too dangerous, you’ll-”

Scott steps forward and pulls him in tight. Derek’s cloak bunches under his hands, smooth and fine and so very unsettling. “Thank you for the flowers,” he says, tucking his face into the crook of Derek’s neck.

“I wish I’d found them for you sooner,” Derek says. His hand cards soft and soothing through Scott’s hair, and Scott lets himself linger for several moments before he finally pulls away. “Scott, please don’t go. I don’t-” Derek pauses, eyes wide and worried. “If you leave, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find you again.”

Scott shakes his head, frowning in confusion. “Find me?” he repeats, brows knitting together. “ _Again?_ ”

“I…” Derek shakes his head. “I just…I have this feeling, that something isn’t right, and I’m forgetting something, and if I lose you again, I don’t…”

Something flickers in a shadowed corner of his mind, dead woods in the dark of winter and bright eyes so fearful and chilling and stealing away his breath. He shakes his head slowly. “Derek,” he says, “what do you mean, _again?_ ”

Derek stares back at him, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, and he says, “I don’t think this is real.”

The words stab into Scott’s mind like a thorn, a sword, a spindle. For a split second, Derek’s cloak melts away to a plain blue jacket, worn and soft brushing over Scott’s hand—

“Liam!” Mom snaps. “Why are you dawdling? Get going, you need to find King Frost before he leaves!”

Scott looks over to Liam, standing small and terrified by the door. “I have to go with him,” he says.

Derek steps forward. “Scott-”

“She won’t let him – he has to go no matter what,” Scott says. “That’s just – that’s how it ends. And I can’t let Liam go alone.” He heaves a shuddering breath, then musters up a smile as he takes Liam’s hand. “We’re going to meet King Frost.”

Derek follows them outside, and Scott can see the light bleeding away from his eyes as the wind blows into their faces and pushes them back into the story. “Scott,” Derek tries, shaking his head frantically, “I don’t…”

“I’ll come back,” Scott says, as his heartbeat skips and trips in the cold grip of winter. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay, okay?”

Derek brushes icy snowflakes from his face. He blinks slowly, and his face falls slack and unrecognizable. “Okay,” he says, and pulls his bright blue cloak tighter around him as he shivers. He smiles, and his eyes shine as blank as glass. “King Frost will take care of you.”

“Yeah.” Scott nods, forcing a brittle smile on his face, then takes Liam’s hand and turns to the woods.

The light from the house fades quickly in the darkness. Scott leads Liam further into the woods, following the path they’ve both walked hundreds of times, then finally stops just inside a clearing. “That’s far enough.”

“Far enough for what?” Liam asks. His teeth clack over his words, and he huddles further into his thin coat. “Can we go back now?”

“Yeah.” Scott clenches his hands briefly, trying to will more mobility back into them, then takes off his coat and drapes it over Liam’s shoulders. “You know the way back, right?” Liam nods, and Scott hands over the lantern. “Good. I want you to turn around and go right back to the house, okay? Don’t stop for anything, not until you’re home. Tell Mom that King Frost sent you back, and that he told you not to go back out until the sun comes out and melts all the snow.”

“Okay.” Liam nods jerkily. “What about you?”

Scott smiles, ignoring the sensation of his cheeks cracking apart. “I’ll be right behind you. I just have to do something first, so you start heading back and don’t stop until you’re home, okay?”

Liam shivers, then nods. “Okay,” he says, and heads back the way they’d come. Scott turns back to the clearing, then whirls when he hears a choked-off scream.

Liam’s frozen mid-step, eyes wide and mouth still open with his entire body covered in a thin layer of ice. King Frost steps out from behind him, clucking his tongue at Scott. “Always have to be the hero, don’t you,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You always have to save _everyone_ , don’t you, Scott.”

“I-” Scott’s breath catches, drawing shorter in his lungs as King Frost steps closer. “I didn’t – please don’t hurt him. You can take me, just let him go, please.”

“Of course, because you always have to be the martyr,” King Frost says. “But you know the thing about martyrs, Scott? They die. But you, on the other hand, oh no. You never really get that far, do you? No, you always seem to find a way to save yourself. But meanwhile, those around you…” His gaze slides over to Liam’s frozen body, eyes narrowing.

“No, please, don’t-” Scott shouts, but he’s barely taken a step before Liam shatters to pieces.

“Oh, dear,” King Frost says, shaking his head in feigned sadness. “Oh, dear, dear, dear. But don’t worry, Scott, that wasn’t your fault. He just so happened to be yet _another_ innocent life you just couldn’t quite get to in time.” His lips draw back in a grin, baring teeth white as snow and spindle-sharp. “How many is that, now? It’s funny how the bodies just keep piling up around you, isn’t it? It’s always _you_ , isn’t it, Scott?”

Snow whips around him, burying him up to his knees and cutting into his face. “What do you want?” Scott demands. He forces breath into his stiffening lungs, forces his teeth not to chatter and choke him into silence. King Frost paces closer to him, eyes glowing icy blue, and the fog finally clears from Scott’s mind. He draws another breath. “Tell me what you want, Peter.”

Peter grins, fangs lengthening to deadly points. “Well, that certainly took you long enough to catch on,” he says. “I’m disappointed, really. After I left you _so many_ clues.”

“What do you want, Peter?”

He leans closer, breath ghosting across Scott’s face as cold and cutting as a blizzard. “What I want, Scott,” he says softly, “is the same thing that you want. I want to finish the story.”

Scott forces himself to inhale, even though it feels like icicles pouring down his throat and cutting into his lungs. “And what happens when the story ends?”

“Well, your guess is as good as mine.” Peter draws back, pacing around Scott while the snow falls even harder. Scott can see it piling high as his waist, but it’s not really cold anymore – he can’t really feel anything anymore, he thinks. “There’s still one left, as the rules go.” Peter’s face twists, and he mutters to himself before smirking at Scott. “And after that, we’re all free.”

 _Why did you do this_ , Scott tries to ask, but his breath creaks feebly in his chest. “Peter,” he grits out, “Why-”

“Oh, looks like you’re out of time,” Peter says cheerily. He taps Scott on the nose. “I’d tell you that it doesn’t hurt, but, well, I’d be lying. And freezing to death…” His nose wrinkles. “I can only imagine how unpleasant that must be.”

“Peter,” Scott shouts, but Peter melts into the darkness. The wind howls around Scott, deafening in his ears and cutting down to his bones. He draws a breath to call after Peter, but the air freezes in his lungs. His head throbs, every muscle in his body seizing, and for a split second, his entire body burns.

Then he breaks apart into sweet, blessed darkness.

 

* * *

 

_“This is private property.”_

_Scott looks over his shoulder, grinning as Derek sits down next to him. “Well, I hope you at least brought me my inhaler before you kick me out.”_

_Derek knocks his shoulder against Scott’s, looking down with a faint grin. “What’re you doing out here?”_

_“Liam and Malia are doing fine, they can handle the blue moon on their own,” he says._

_“I know,” Derek says, nodding easily. “That wasn’t what I asked you, though.”_

_Scott nods, looking down at his hands. “I just…needed some space to think, I guess,” he says. “Things changing, you know.”_

_“In a good way or a bad way?”_

_Scott looks over, staring at Derek’s moonlight-bathed profile for a long moment. “Good,” he says. “I hope.”_

_Derek turns to meet his gaze. “I hope so, too,” he says, eyes soft and just barely hopeful. They sit in silence for a while, gazing up at the star-filled sky. “So, what’re you doing out here?” Scott asks._

_Derek shrugs in a vague sort of way. “You know. Things changing.”_

_Scott looks up. “Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Yeah.” Scott nods slowly. “…You were following me again, weren’t you.” Derek stares resolutely at the moon, eyes suddenly still. “That’s very sweet of you.”_

_Derek rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”_

_“No, I mean it,” Scott says. “It’s a full moon, you were keeping an eye on me; that’s really thoughtful of you.” He grins as the tense line of Derek’s shoulders relax. “And I think it’s really cute how you still think I can’t tell when you’re right behind me.”_

_“Cute?” Derek repeats, nonplussed._

_Scott grins cheerily. “The cutest.”_

_Derek rolls his eyes again, lower lip sliding out into what could almost be a pout. “I wasn’t_ right _behind you,” he mutters._

_“Sure thing, Derek.”_

_Derek laughs and yanks Scott’s hood over his head._


	7. Little Red Riding Hood

[ ](http://pocketlass.tumblr.com)

14\. [Painting Flowers - All Time Low](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aRQekKsxTPU)  
15\. [Safe and Sound - Taylor Swift feat. The Civil Wars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzhAS_GnJIc)  
16\. [Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xR0DKOGco_o)  
17\. [Out of the Woods - Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVAfR3QjFKo)

* * *

  

Scott pushes his hood back from his head, drawing in a steady breath as he slows to a stop in the clearing. “This isn’t real,” he says, and his words echo faintly through dense fog. “This is a story. I just have to finish the story. I just have to finish the story, and then…” And then he doesn’t know what will happen. He lets out a shuddering breath. One step at a time. “I just have to finish the story.”

He looks down at himself, taking in the plain shirt and breeches tucked into knee-high boots. Not a prince, then, or maybe a prince in hiding. He lifts the basket next to him, piled high with bread and apples such a deep crimson that they almost smell metallic. A folded note pokes out from just under the cloth, addressed to Stiles in Scott’s own handwriting. Baked goods, deep in the woods, this must be…his cloak falls over his arm as he sets the basket down, and Scott’s heart jolts.

Red. Bright red, red as a beacon, red as slick shining blood. A red cloak – no, a red _hood_. Scott draws in a shaky breath, holding it tight in his lungs until he can exhale steadily. “Okay,” he says, rubbing at a phantom ache in his side. He turns slowly in the middle of the clearing, and the fog seems to become even denser, curling around his ankles and over his wrists. “Okay.”

Heavy footfalls crash through the woods. “Stiles?” Scott calls, whirling towards the sound, and then a hand bursts through the fog with an axe held high.

The huntswoman stops just short of slicing him open with her axe. “What are you doing here?” she demands. “There’s a dangerous wolf in these woods.”

Scott stumbles back, straightening as she lowers her axe. “Allison,” he gasps. “You’re-”

“How do you know my name?” Allison demands. Her eyes flick over him without recognition, and she shakes her head. “Never mind that. You need to get out of here before the wolf finds you. It’s already broken into some poor man’s home.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t find a trace of him. The monster must’ve swallowed him whole.”

“The-” Scott’s breath catches in his throat. He yanks the note out of his basket, unfolding it with shaking hands. It’s not a letter, like he’d thought, but a map, charting a path deep into the woods to a small cottage further ahead. “No, Stiles, no, he-”

The huntswoman leans over his shoulder. “That’s where I found the cottage,” she says quietly. “I’m very sorry about your friend.” She hefts her axe. “Can I escort you back home? I wouldn’t want you running into the wolf. It’s a nasty thing, huge and abnormal with its eyes glowing like-”

“Abnormal?” Scott repeats. He swallows, and the phantom pain in his side returns. “It was – it didn’t look like a regular wolf?”

She shakes her head, nose wrinkled in disgust. “It was huge. Monstrous. And its eyes, its glowing eyes like…” She shudders. “If I hadn’t sworn to the Code, I’d be running out of here as fast as my feet could carry me.”

Scott blinks. “The Code. The…your…” He clears his throat with a cough. “ _Nous…nous protégeons ceux-_ ”

“- _qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_ ,” Allison finishes, eyes wide. She pushes her hood back, stepping forward as her face clears. “…Scott. _Scott_.” She blinks, staring around them, then drops the axe with a startled gasp. “Scott, what’s going on?”

He stares back at her. “You remember?” he asks, voice cracking. “You…remember me?”

“Of course I do.” Allison brushes back dark hair from her face, reaching forward to squeeze his hand. “Of course, Scott, I’d never…” She shakes her head. “Where are we? What’s happening?”

“We’re…” Scott swallows. “We’re in a story.”

“A story,” she repeats, voice flat.

He nods. “A fairytale. Uh-” He reaches back with his free hand, tugging his bright red hood over his head.

Allison’s eyes widen in understanding. “Oh,” she says quickly. “Oh. Okay. Okay, so…so how do we get out of here?”

Scott looks down at the axe. “We finish the story.”

Her brows draw together. “How do you know that?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve done this,” Scott says. He frowns. “We…do you remember anything before this?”

She shakes her head absently. “No, but that’s not important. Okay, so what happened in the other stories? Who was in them? No,” she snaps her fingers. “Who were the _villains?_ ”

“Well, there was…” His head throbs as he tries to remember. “Kate, I think, and…the Darach. And…” Malia’s face fills his mind, twisted with rage and tears streaming from her eyes. “Me. I was the villain.”

“Scott.” Allison squeezes his arm gently. “It’s just whoever put us here messing with you. They probably want to keep us here, find whatever ways they can to trap you in the stories.”

Scott nods. “Yeah, Peter said-”

“ _Peter?_ ” Allison interrupts. “ _Peter_ is here?”

“Yeah, he was…he was King Frost, once, and in another story he was…” He frowns. “I think he cursed Derek.”

Allison nods, lips pursed. “It’s probably one of them, then. So in this one…I’m the huntsman, and Stiles was…” She trails off, staring through the thick fog. “The wolf took Stiles. He took Stiles before he could even find you, he took Stiles _so_ he could get to you.” She turns back to Scott. “It has to be Peter.”

“What?”

“It’s Peter,” Allison says. “Scott, in this story, the wolf is supposed to _eat_ you. That’s what he wants, he wants the story to end with him killing you.”

“But that’s not.” Scott shakes his head. “That’s not how the story ends, Allison. You can’t just stop the story before it ends.”

“You’re not supposed to know it’s a story, either,” Allison says. “You’re not supposed to remember any thing. Maybe the rules are different this time around.”

One story left, Peter had said. One more, and then they’d all be free. A lump settles in his throat. “Maybe.”

“You said he was King Frost in the last story, right?” Allison says. “And he took Stiles, just like he did when he was the alpha – when he was a _wolf_. He has to be the wolf now, it has to be Peter. And if ending the story is the only way to get us out of here, well,” she draws her baton with a deft flick of her wrist, and electricity crackles down its length. “I’ve always wanted to take him down once and for all.” She turns, pressing her back against Scott’s. “Tell me the moment you see those ugly glowing blue eyes-”

“Wait.” Scott spins back around. “Did you say _blue?_ The wolf had blue eyes?”

“Yeah,” Allison says, nodding. “Peter’s always had blue eyes.”

“Not when he was the alpha,” Scott says, staring at her purple tunic. It’s not the same as the tunic from the first fairytale; it’s more faded, hanging looser on her frame. Her hair is shorter, too, curls gentler, and the tips of her fingers are blackened as if from brushing away soot, as if from—

From breaking a line of mountain ash. The phantom wound in his side throbs again, but it’s not from a bite, not from an alpha. Scott looks up at Allison, and the fog chills him as cold as the abandoned bank vault. “Allison, the wolf isn’t Peter. It’s Derek.” A frantic laugh escapes from his throat. “It’s Derek. He never even – the cottage was empty when you found it, right? Stiles was never even here. Peter just wanted us to think he was so that…” The blood drains from his face. “He wanted us to kill Derek.”

Allison blinks, taking a step back. “Scott-”

“I’m not,” Scott says immediately. “We’re not. We’re not killing Derek.”

“But-” She presses her lips together. “Scott, I caught a glimpse of the wolf at the cottage, okay? It may not be Peter, but it’s a _monster_. It didn’t recognize me at all, it didn’t look aware, or…” She heaves a sigh. “Scott, even if the wolf is Derek, I don’t think it’s really _him_ anymore. And isn’t it more important to end the story? So we can all get out?”

“But the villains don’t make it out of the stories,” Scott says. “And you just said – maybe the rules are different because this is the last one. What if…” He shakes his head. “We can’t let anyone die in this story. We can’t.”

Allison shakes her head, frowning in confusion. “But – to end the story-”

“It’s Red Riding Hood’s story,” Scott says. “It’s hers and no one else’s. If she…” He swallows, lips wobbling into a shaky smile. “If _I_ die, then the story’s over.”

“No,” Allison says, gripping the baton tighter. “No, because I’m supposed to defeat the wolf and let you out. That’s how the story ends.”

“I didn’t say the story ends if the wolf eats me,” Scott says. “I said it ends if I die.”

Allison stares at him, face going pale. “Scott, but…” She blinks furiously. “But then we’re stuck here. Don’t you want to go back? Do you really want to be trapped here forever?”

“I don’t want to give Peter what he wants,” Scott says. “…But maybe I am. He wants me dead more than he’d ever want Derek dead. He probably wants me to do this, and…” He shrugs helplessly. “I have to.”

“And what about the rest of?” Allison demands. “Is Derek more important to you than Stiles? Malia? Lydia? _Me?_ ”

“Stiles and Malia and Lydia aren’t here,” Scott says. “Those weren’t really them. That’s why I recognized Derek even when I didn’t know him, that’s why he knew the other story, that’s – because it was really him, not these…” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s all in my head,” he realizes. He’d known that, but he’d forgotten again, he keeps forgetting, he keeps forgetting something terribly important and he’s already lost it forever. “None of this is real, it’s all in my head, mine and Derek’s, it’s just us here, and-”

“Scott,” Allison says. She drops the baton and steps forward, gripping his arms with hands as cold as King Frost’s breath. “Scott, please. You can’t stay here.”

“It can’t be that bad,” he says, laughing a little. “You’re here, after all.”

“Scott.” Her hands clench, and the cold bites into him down to the bone. “Scott, you can’t do this. This is what Peter _wants_.”

“It’s worth it if Derek makes it out,” Scott says. “That’s why I followed him in here in the first place. This is what I wanted.”

“Please don’t do this,” Allison says, voice cracking. Scott pulls her into a hug and tries to ignore his chattering teeth. “Please, Scott.”

“They’ll understand,” Scott says. “They’ll understand that I had to.”

“No, you can’t do this,” Allison says, pushing away from him and picking up the baton from the floor. It morphs into a sharp axe in her hands. “I’ll die before I let you do this, Scott.”

He smiles tiredly as his heart swells and cracks to dust. He takes the axe from her hand. “Allison.” His throat closes, and he steps forward to hold her close. It all feels so real, every curl of her hair and the faint scent of her perfume. He squeezes his eyes shut and brushes a kiss over her forehead. “You already did.”

Allison’s eyes widen, and a tremor shakes through her body. She stumbles back and reaches for him with a red-tipped hand. “I’m sorry, Allison. I have to – I have to let you go,” Scott says, and then the wolf steps through her and she fades away.

“Derek,” Scott says. Derek growls back at him, hackles raised, bright blue eyes focused on the axe. “Derek, I know you can hear me, somewhere deep down. And I want you to know, I _need_ you to know.” His voice wobbles, his heart pounds into his throat, and he can’t stop shaking – but it’s okay, he knows it’s okay, it’ll only hurt for a little bit and it’ll be over. He’s suddenly grateful for the other story, softening the blow for him now. He knows how it will go now. He knows what it feels like to reach the end. “It’s okay, Derek, okay? I’m telling you I – it’s okay. It’s okay. We just have to finish the story, and then…” He swallows, then reaches out and drops the axe to the ground. His throat closes, shrinking his voice to a whisper. “It’s okay.”

Derek lunges. Pain flares in his side, biting hot and familiar. Scenes flit behind his eyes like flashbulbs – sharp fangs sinking into him as he clutches the forest floor, Derek helping him to his feet in a cold bank vault, a broken body at the bottom of a fall and the dull ache of giving in. It sinks around him like a warm blanket, comforting and soft, pressing him in so gently as he floats apart.

 

* * *

 

They finally break through the fog into a clearing in the Preserve. “Scott?” Stiles yells, reeling backwards as Braeden stops him from running into Derek’s hunched back. “Derek, where’s – oh god.”

Derek kneels over Scott’s unmoving form, a bloodstained hand pressed to Scott’s too-pale chest. “I-” he gasps out, his entire body trembling, “I did this, I-”

Liam crashes to the forest floor, curling in on himself as an anguished howl tears from his throat. “I can’t,” Malia whispers, curling a shaking hand around Stiles’ shoulder. “Stiles, I can’t hear his heartbeat.”

Braeden pushes past them and kneels next to Scott, hands feeling for his pulse and breath. “His heart’s stopped beating,” she says, voice clipped. “Beginning chest compressions.”

Stiles watches numbly as Braeden pumps her arms over Scott’s chest, pressing down hard enough to break bones. It won’t hurt him, he thinks dimly, because Scott’s a werewolf, he’ll heal if she snaps his sternum, it’ll be okay, Scott’s going to be okay. Malia nods against the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut, and he realizes he’s been mumbling out loud. He snaps his mouth shut, and his own breaths are suddenly too harsh, too loud over Braeden’s steady counting, Liam’s agonized cries and Mason’s feeble attempts to soothe him.

“Lydia.” He turns to watch Lydia fall to her knees, shaking her head frantically with both hands clasped over her mouth. Kira wraps her in her arms, curling a hand around the back of Lydia’s head. “It’s okay, Lydia. It’s going to be okay,” she says, but her voice trembles in fear. Braeden pinches Scott’s nose, tilting his head back and breathing into his mouth. “He’s going to be okay.”

Braeden watches Scott’s too-still chest carefully. “Beginning seventh cycle,” she says, voice dulled and mechanic, and leans back over Scott’s chest.

Derek lifts his head slowly, as if waking from a dream, and he nudges Braeden aside. “I’ll do it,” he says, voice hoarse. Something snaps as Derek presses down on Scott’s chest, and the sound echoes dry and brittle through the woods. Stiles can’t tear his gaze away from the blood coating Derek’s hands, his arms, his chest. He can’t look away from the blood covering Derek, because he can’t look at the blood pooled around Scott. He can’t.

“…Twenty-nine, thirty,” Derek counts out. He sits back, eyes darting over Scott. Too still. Too pale. Too much blood, so much blood spilling hot and red over skin white as snow. “Come on, Scott,” Derek mutters, his voice cracking over the name. “ _Please._ ” He tilts Scott’s head back, fits his mouth over Scott’s just like Braeden had, and breathes.

Lydia screams.

 

* * *

 

_Breath pours into his lungs slowly. Scott exhales, draws another breath, and finally opens his eyes._

_He’s surrounded by ice – no, glass. It’s smooth against his palm, clear and shining and reflecting nothing but his own image, a small circle of condensation forming over his mouth. He tries to step forward, tries to lean closer to the glass, but something stops him. He’s immobile, suspended, somehow, and even craning his neck forward is an immense effort. He peers back at himself in the glass, familiar and somehow foreign, and then his reflection shifts, moving closer and closer until a new face stands on the other side of the glass._

_“You don’t look very surprised to see me,” Peter Hale drawls._

_“You don’t look very disappointed to see_ me _,” Scott shoots back, and Peter barks out a laugh. “So this is what you wanted all along, right? To trap me here where no one could find me?” He glances around himself again, then looks back at Peter. “So why’d you bother with such an elaborate plan? There’s gotta be easier ways than all this.”_

_Peter’s lip curls into a grin. “I know better than to underestimate you, Scott.”_

_“No.” Scott shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. You chose the stories – you chose Stiles, Lydia, Malia, and you chose Kate, and the Darach,” he snorts, “And me. You almost got me with that one. I almost started to believe it was real.”_

_Peter lets out a gusty sigh. “What’s your point, Scott?”_

_“You could control so much about the stories, but you were in them anyway. You were just as caught up in them as I was.” Scott shrugs. “You didn’t pull me in here just to trap me, you did it to get_ yourself _out.”_

_Peter chuckles. “Scott, I thought you would’ve realized by now that I always have a backup plan.” He gestures at the glass surrounding Scott. “And it’s all worked out in my favor, after all. You get to stay here, and I get all of your alpha powers.”_

_“What about Derek?”_

_Peter raises an eyebrow. “I just told you that you’ll be stuck here, powerless, forever, and your concern is_ Derek _.”_

_“He wasn’t part of your plans, but he got pulled in anyway,” Scott says. “What happens to him?”_

_“He’ll wake up, probably,” Peter says, shrugging dismissively. “Might not take it too well when he finds out what happened, but it’s not like it’s the first time he’s killed someone he loves.”_

_“No.” Scott’s hand curls into a fist. “That wasn’t him, it wasn’t his fault – that was the_ story _, not him, he has to know that. He has to know it wasn’t his fault.”_

_“Oh, yes, definitely,” Peter says, nodding. “Just like it wasn’t your fault that Stiles fell out of a tower into a forest of thorns. I can see that, Scott.”_

_“I…” Bile rises in Scott’s throat, and Peter turns away with a final smirk. “Peter!” he roars, pounding on the glass. “You can’t do this! You can’t do this to him!”_

_“You did this to yourselves,” Peter tosses over his shoulder, sauntering away from the glass._

_Scott pounds helplessly on the glass, hands scraping bloody and bruised. He presses his throbbing head against the cool glass, then looks up when he sees Peter still on the other side, still facing away from Scott, head still turning uncertainly. “Peter,” he croaks through a throat raw from screams, “You don’t know how to get out, do you?”_

_“Of course I do,” Peter snaps. “I finished the story, I’m free. Once the story ends, that’s it. I’ll just wake up, and…”_

Wake up. _That’s it. Scott breaks down into laughter, knocking his head against the glass. “I never woke up.”_

_“I told you that already,” Peter says, spinning around to glare at him. “You let Derek kill you in the last story. You’ll never wake up.”_

_“No, no.” Scott shakes his head, clutching an ache in his side as he laughs. “I never woke up. The only way out is to finish the story, and_ I never woke up _.”_

_Peter leans closer to the glass, eyes narrowing. It’s much darker on his side, now that Scott looks through it. His walls aren’t glass, like Scott, but some sort of metallic, silver…reflective. “You know, Peter,” Scott says, pushing himself upright, “The Queen had a magic mirror. I remember it now, the huntswoman mentioned it when she chased me. The Queen’s magic mirror that helped her find me.”_

_Peter spreads his hands, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Good for you, Scott. I was the Evil Queen’s magic mirror. Did it really take you this long to figure that out?”_

_“Yes,” Scott says with a shrug. “Just like it took you this long to figure out that that’s where you are right now.”_

_Peter jerks back from the glass. “No,” he mutters, staring around him. “No, that can’t be right, I can’t be – this story ended!”_

_“It didn’t,” Scott says. “You helped the Queen find me. But the Prince never did.” He pushes himself back from the glass, blinking in surprise when his back touches silk sheets and a soft cushion. “I think you’re trapped here just as much as I am, Peter.”_

_“No!” Peter shouts. “You can’t keep me here! This can’t be the last story! I can’t be-”_

_“-the bad guy?” Scott finishes for him. “Yeah, they tend not to make it out of the story. Good luck finding a way out of that mirror.”_

_Peter leans in, hands splayed on the glass. “You’re trapped here, too, Scott. I can see the glass all around you. You’re trapped in this mirror right along with me. If I can’t get out, neither can you.”_

_“No, I don’t think so,” Scott says, patting the pillow behind his head. It’s soft as silk, finer than any cloth he’s ever felt, and as comfortable as a cloud. “I’m not behind a mirror, Peter. Actually, I’m exactly where you’ve been trying to put me this whole time.”_

_“What are you talking about?” Peter hisses._

_Scott smiles blithely. “Did you forget that after Snow White ate the poisoned apple, the dwarves kept her in a glass coffin?”_

_Peter’s eyes narrow. “Let me out of here!” he howls, pounding on the glass. “You can’t do this to me!”_

_Scott settles back into the cushion. “You did this to yourself.”_

_Peter’s fist slams into the glass. It splinters, and Scott watches Peter’s eyes widen through the cracks, face blanching white as frost. Then the glass breaks, and Peter shatters to dust._

_Scott closes his eyes as shards of glass rain down on him, melting to icy water as they touch his skin. He brushes them away, gulping down sweet air through suddenly heaving lungs. A warm hand lands on his shoulder, tugging him upright, and Scott’s eyes fly open as he’s pressed tight against a blue-clothed shoulder._

_“Scott,” Derek gasps out, arm wrapped firmly around Scott’s middle while his hand cradles the back of Scott’s head. “Scott, I’m so sorry, I-”_

_Scott clutches him tight, tucking his face into Derek’s shoulder as he smiles so hard that his cheeks ache. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “Derek, it’s okay.”_

_Derek chokes out a sob. “I_ killed _you.”_

_“Well.” Scott pulls back and looks down at himself. “I guess you didn’t do a very good job of that.” Derek ducks his head with a helpless laugh, and Scott grins. “How come you didn’t wake me up before?”_

_“I…I couldn’t,” Derek says. He stares down at his hands. “I was lost in the woods, and a huntswoman – she said she needed a heart to bring back to the Queen, to save you. So that the Queen wouldn’t hunt you anymore. She said a wolf heart would do, and I was a wolf, so…”_

_Scott’s mouth falls open. “You_ didn’t _,” he says. “Derek, that’s not how the story’s supposed to go! You’re supposed to wake me up from the curse, not die before the story even got started!”_

_Derek shrugs. “I don’t care how the story goes. I just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you.” His hands twist. “I…didn’t do a very good job of that, though.”_

_“I made my own choices, Derek,” Scott says. “Okay? That was my choice to end the story. That wasn’t you. And you-” He sits further upright in the coffin, staring at the clearing around them. “You found me again._ I _couldn’t even find me again, but you did.”_

_Derek shakes his head even as a grin curls across face. “It was – in your basket. You had my heart, the one I gave away to the huntswoman.” He looks up at Scott. “As soon as I had it again, I remembered how to change back. And I knew exactly where to find you.”_

_Scott looks down at the shattered coffin. “You know, you were supposed to break the curse with a kiss,” he says. “That’s how you’re supposed to wake me up.”_

_Derek laughs, cheeks reddening as he helps Scott out of the coffin. “Well, punching through the glass seemed to work well enough, too.”_

_“Yeah.” He steps down from the coffin, trying not to trample on the flowers blooming through the grass. “But we’re still here, you know.”_

_Derek looks at the empty clearing around them. “Yeah, all two of us.” He grins down at Scott, settling a hand at the small of his back. “I guess we still have to finish the story.”_

_Scott pulls him closer. “Come here and wake me up.”_

_Derek laughs softly and presses his lips to Scott’s, tasting of roses and snowflakes and tart, crisp apples._

 

Fingers clamp tight over his nostrils, and Derek pulls back from Scott’s lips to press his head to Scott’s chest. Breath rushes into his lungs, sharp and burning and so very sweet, and he coughs through watery eyes as the world swims back into view.

“Scott!” Derek’s face appears in front of him, his mouth still smeared with hastily-wiped blood and his eyes red from tears. “Scott, I’m so sorry, I-”

Scott clutches his hand tight, smiling so hard that his cheeks ache. “It’s okay,” he says, chest creaking as he gulps down lungfuls of sweet air. “Derek, it’s okay. Hey.” He leans into Derek, relishing the warm breath puffing across his face. “Hi.”

Derek exhales slowly as his eyes draw open to meet Scott’s. He smiles, hesitant and hopeful as his hand curls solid and warm over Scott’s cheek. “Hi.”

“Scott!”

He looks up at Stiles standing over them, face slack and wild-eyed, and the rest of the pack hovering just behind. “Is everyone okay?”

Stiles laughs frantically, his smile faint and hesitant. “Yeah, we’re – Scott, you-”

“I’m okay,” Scott says, nodding. Stiles lets out a sigh of relief as a more genuine smile breaks across his face. “We’re all okay. Okay.” He climbs to his feet slowly, biting back a groan while Derek helps him with careful hands. “Let’s get out of here.”

He leans most of his weight against Derek as they follow the pack through the woods. “Hey,” he says, threading their fingers together and squeezing tight. “Thanks for coming after me.”

Derek’s breath catches, then he looks down at Scott with a soft smile. “I always will,” he promises.

Scott settles against him with a grin, then notices a quietly rueful set to his mouth. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

His eyebrows lift. “Oh, just.” He looks down, shaking his head in embarrassment. “That was just…not how I imagined our first kiss.”

“Oh, you’ve _imagined_ our first kiss?” Scott teases. Derek tugs Scott’s hoodie over his head, and Scott shoves it back with a grin. “No, come on, tell me about it.”

“Well, we were both conscious, for one.”

Scott barks out a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, ducking his head with a faint snort.

Scott touches his shoulder, slowing them to a stop. “Yeah,” he murmurs, and leans up.

Their lips brush together, soft and smooth and so very hesitant. Scott presses closer, chasing the fading taste of apples in Derek’s mouth while Derek’s arm curls gentle and warm over his back.

Derek pulls back slowly, and his lips curve against Scott’s in a shy smile. Then he opens his eyes and says, “That was just okay.”

“Yeah, I’d say it was perfectly mediocre,” Scott agrees, scrunching his nose.

“We can definitely do better.”

“Definitely. We should try again.”

Derek nods, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Right now.” He leans in, threading his fingers through Scott’s hair, and—

“Hey!” Stiles yells back at them, waving his arms from the parking lot. “Save the dramatics for later, Prince Charming. I’d like to get home before the sun comes up.”

“It’s already up,” Scott points out.

“Yeah, don’t remind me.”

Derek laughs, so close that his cheek brushes Scott’s nose. “To be continued,” he says, holding out his hand. Scott takes it, and they walk together out of the woods.


End file.
